


I’d Rather Burn in Hell

by eureka1



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Coming Out, Dirty Talk, Drama, First Time Sex, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Series, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, toppy Justin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 00:18:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9148435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eureka1/pseuds/eureka1
Summary: Post 5.13. Justin and Brian are together in Pittsburgh. Daphne asks the boys for their assistance with a recent acquaintance.Based on a recent real-life encounter this author had with Mormon missionaries.This is a very porny story, so be forewarned if that doesn’t appeal to you! There's lots of humor too. :DImplied hetero sex, but no such activity in the story. I promise. I’m all about our boys and their exploits.





	1. Genesis (aka Interruptions)

**Author's Note:**

> This six-chapter story is complete. I will be posting one chapter a week for six weeks.
> 
> Warning: No disrespect or offense is intended toward Mormons or any other group. If that might be offensive to you, I suggest you skip this story. This work of fiction has been written purely for entertainment.
> 
> **********
> 
> Banner by the amazing samcdee, my banner queen!
> 
> Many, many thanks to my incredible betas: Brynn_Jones, TAGSIT, and samcdee.
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

Daphne took a swallow of her sludgy, brownish, wheat germ protein shake and grimaced in disgust. She couldn’t begin to describe the vile taste - maybe decades old buffalo chips? Shaking her head, the young woman decided she really must have been out of her mind when she’d listened to Brian’s advice on healthy, energizing drinks. Either he’d been taking the piss with her - as she strongly suspected - or he’d been trying to figure out how to market another unpalatable drink. Maybe Brian would turn this sewer water into the next Pool Boy.

 

Daphne dumped the brown gunk down the kitchen sink and poured water into her French press to brew a cup of coffee. She didn’t have access to Brian’s alternate protein source - the one only Justin could supply - so Daphne would have to rely on frequent infusions of caffeine to invigorate herself. Then, if she devoted most of the day to reviewing for her neuroscience final, she’d be able to meet her boys at Woody’s that evening.

 

Daphne settled in at her desk, steam rising from her favorite Freudian Sips mug, opened her textbook, and powered up her computer to log into the class chat session. As she was entering her student ID and password, her ditzy blonde neighbor, Sherry, rang Daphne’s doorbell and then barged in without waiting for a response.

 

“Hey, Daph. You got some brown sugar I can borrow?” Sherry headed straight for the kitchen and started looking through Daphne’s cupboards. “I’m making hash brownies for me and Gustav. I’ll save you a couple if you’d like.”

 

Nonplussed by her neighbor’s rude behavior, Daphne just stared at Sherry while she engaged in what the diligent student knew would be a futile search. Why Sherry had thought she would have brown sugar, Daphne had no clue, since she never had any time to bake or cook. She was in her fourth year of an accelerated psychiatry program at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center, the foremost psychiatry institute in the nation, and all of her time was devoted to her studies. Well, except for those occasions when she could sweet-talk Justin into cooking for her at the loft he shared with Brian - her two favorite studs were always worth blowing off her homework for a bit.

 

Daphne still didn’t utter a word as Sherry rattled on and on about her loser boyfriend and how she wanted to make up with him after their last spat, despite how horrible he’d been to her. Instead, the mahogany-haired lass ignored her obnoxious neighbor and reminisced about her night with the boys a month earlier. They’d all gotten high on Brian’s stash, cackling like hyenas as they then dug into the jambalaya Justin had simmering on the stove. Brian had carried the steaming pan over to the coffee table while Justin and Daph followed along behind him with bowls, utensils, a platter of fresh, crusty sourdough bread, and more bottles of Roundabout Brewery’s premium IPA. Regular, weekly deliveries of that palate-pleasing beverage were dropped off on Friday afternoons, ensuring that Brian and Justin never ran short, regardless of how much company the two men invited to the loft. Roundabout had signed on the dotted line with Kinnetik a mere six months earlier and - to express their satisfaction with the imaginative and creative print, television, and social media advertising - had offered a regular supply of Roundabout to the agency’s execs as well as the artist who’d translated the campaign’s concepts into beguiling technicolor. Since Brian and Justin didn’t need quite that much beer, they’d sent Emmett into paroxysms of delight by offering him Justin’s share. To Brian’s displeasure, that meant he had to spend even more time removing Emmett’s hands from various parts of the blond boy’s body whenever Em came to pick up his beer. He always scoffed, dismissing the flaming queen’s protestations that he was just thanking his ‘Baby’.

 

Brian, Justin, and Daphne had sprawled out on the thick Turkish carpet that surrounded the Mies Van Der Rohe chrome and glass coffee table - Brian for once utterly indifferent to spills and stains. Pot definitely mellowed him out. As the voracious carnivores rapidly decimated the pan’s contents, the initial feeding frenzy had devolved into Justin and Brian pulling off each other’s shirts and serving up spoonfuls to each other, slurping up the sauce that dripped down their chins and onto their torsos. They hadn’t cared that Daphne was watching since she was their fag hag and always very appreciative of their performances. They even tolerated the Lap Rocket, aka Just Thrusty, Daph’s favorite dildo, which almost always accompanied her on her forays to the loft.

 

She’d more than once had to ignore Justin’s sardonically lifted eyebrow in regard to Just Thrusty’s appearance. Really, did he have to pick up that habit from the older stud? She’d privately dubbed her favorite dildo Just Taylored, a clever play on Justin’s name even if she was the only one in the know. C’mon, it had been completely natural for Daphne to name her dildo after her best friend, right? He was the one who’d de-virginized her back when she was all about hearts and flowers and happily-ever-afters. Even if she’d already been interested in playing the field when she was seventeen, she still would have wanted her first time to be with her best friend. So it wasn’t all that odd that she’d named her favorite dildo after him.

 

Although Justin’s rocket wasn’t quite as long as Brian’s, it was thicker and - once she’d gotten past the pain - had been incredibly stimulating for her first venture into sex. Everyone since had come up short in comparison to Justin. The young woman had wistfully longed for the umpteenth time that she could be in the middle of a Justin-Brian sandwich or at least reprise her adventure with her bestie. Alas, that wasn’t meant to be. But, as long as they didn’t glimpse any female parts, the boys sometimes allowed her to indulge her voyeuristic tendencies and watch them while also entertaining herself.

 

Yum! The way that shrimp had slithered down between Brian’s nipples, across his stomach, and then cockward down his treasure trail, with Justin’s tongue following along, licking up every droplet of saucy shellfish, had definitely been stimulating. The sassy blond had detoured briefly to swish his tongue around each nipple, biting gently at the sensitive flesh, before resuming his netherward spiral - accompanied by pleading grunts and groans from his willing brunet victim. Justin had popped open the buttons of Brian’s fly while licking his way down, the brunet obligingly lifting his ass off the rug to accommodate the blond’s efforts. Then, Justin had slid Brian’s jeans down to his knees before leaning over Brian’s lap and burying his face in those auburn pubes, inhaling a deep breath of that always-appealing, musky aroma. “Mmfph, Twat,” Brian had half-growled, “what happened to lapping up that sauce? I can see a bead you missed, right at the end of this tasty delight.” With that, Brian had bucked up toward his boy’s mouth, seeking some immediate relief.

 

That had earned the brunet a smothered chuckle and then a sunshiny grin as the blond twat had raised his head from Brian’s lap. “Patience, Master,” the impish young man had teased, “don’t you always tell me that a blow job should be savored and not rushed?”

 

“Fuck patience, Sunshine, wrap that mouth around me now!” Brian had demanded. “You’ve already been tormenting me for hours, sashaying around the loft, wiggling those hips, and brushing up against me every chance you got. You thought I didn’t notice?” the older stud had queried, quirking an eyebrow in question.

 

At that, a boyish giggle had issued from Justin’s mouth, causing the brunet’s painfully-hard rod to stiffen even further. “Just showing you how well I’ve learned my lessons,” the blond had baited his lover before taking pity on his quarry and leaning over to lave a wide strip from Brian’s balls to the tip of his dick. *mmm hmm* “You taste sooo good,” the blond had murmured, running his tongue under the crown of Brian’s cock and then suddenly deep-throating him.

 

Brian’s head had fallen back - displaying his long, sexy neck - and he’d begged shamelessly, “Ahhhh! Don’t stop, Twat.” In response to the brunet’s pleas, Justin had wrapped one hand around the base of Brian’s cock. His other hand had drifted downward while he gazed at the older man through slitted eyes, Justin’s fingers brushing along Brian’s sac, and then circling Brian’s pucker.

 

The brunet’s head had snapped back up and he’d glared in warning at the brash blond. The brat knew better than to tease at his hole when anyone else was present! Even Daphne wasn’t allowed to witness THAT aspect of their private relationship.

 

Since his mouth had been stuffed full, Justin had conveyed an impish, unrepentant grin with his eyes. His fingers had circled around Brian’s pucker one more time, before they drifted back toward Brian’s perineum. Then, while cupping the stud’s balls in the palm of hand, Justin had massaged that spot with his fingers.

 

Daphne hadn’t really been able to see what her bestie was doing with his fingers, but she’d nevertheless sighed in disappointment when the base of Justin’s hand had re-entered her field of vision. Not that watching him fondle Brian’s balls wasn’t a turn-on, but she’d really hoped those fingers were busy elsewhere. She heaved another big sigh. Someday . . . maybe . . . she’d be treated to at least a little taste of Bottom Brian.

 

While massaging Brian’s balls and tapping rhythmically at his perineum, Justin had sucked away at that engorged, purplish-red lollipop, hollowing his cheeks and pulling upward before plunging downward - again and again - gradually increasing the tempo.

 

“Gah-ahhhhh-ahhhhh!” Brian had suddenly screamed in ecstasy, the arch of his neck once more exposed, as he flooded Justin’s mouth with the richest, most delectable cream imaginable. Brian had flopped backward, his head landing with a muffled thud on the thick rug. Depleted of energy, he’d watched as a smug, smirking blond had slithered upward along his torso to share the remnants of Brian’s come in a deep, satisfying kiss. Brian had mumbled something into Justin’s ear, but it had been too indistinct to decipher. Their trusty fag hag, though, had made an educated guess that it was those three little words that the stud had resisted uttering for nigh on five years. Brian still guarded the words like pearls, but he was an expert at expressing them through his actions.

 

With his ‘no locks on our doors’ policy, however, the brunet stud occasionally threatened to give himself an ulcer, worrying that his blond might leave him. At such times, the ‘love yous’ might flow more freely. More likely, though, he would come up with some ridiculously romantic grand gesture that figuratively declared ‘I love you’ in gigantic, blinking, multicolored neon lights.

 

For all that she wasn’t interested in romance for herself, at least not for the foreseeable future, Daphne was invested in her boys’ relationship. And it wasn’t the grand gestures or the ‘I love yous’ from either man that made her go all gooey inside. No, it was the small, unconscious, everyday actions - massaging a hand that was cramping, adding a bit of coffee to a cupful of sugar, holding hands as they walked down the street.

 

As she had thought about going gooey, Daphne had finally remembered to breathe, gasping for air as she jerkily inhaled and exhaled. Ugh! Her French-cut underwear and the crotch of her jeans had been soaked through, and she’d probably blemished the carpet as well. Well, fuck. It was to be expected after three chain-reaction orgasms during the endless suck-off. She’d really hoped Brian wouldn’t notice the smudge because, even in his sated state, the stud would have felt compelled to make a snarky remark. Heck, he might even have insisted on sending Daphne the rug-cleaning bill. He’d have reimbursed her, of course, but she’d have had to endure endless mocking before he finally relented.

 

Just then, Daphne was rudely jerked out of her daydream about the sexual shenanigans of her two favorite men and thrust back into the one-sided conversation with Sherry. Her neighbor grabbed her by the arm and exclaimed, “That’s it, Daphne! I don’t need to bake the brownies. We’ll just lick the batter off one another. Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!” the ditzy girl called over her shoulder as she bustled out the door, apparently forgetting all about her quest for brown sugar.

 

What the heck? Daphne wondered whether she’d started mumbling about jambalaya and pot and had somehow inspired Sherry’s plan to lure Gustav the Greasy to once more lay his head on the blonde’s decidedly-flat bosom.

 

Daphne double-checked that she’d locked the door behind Sherry since she didn’t want anyone else to waltz in unexpectedly. The conscientious psychiatry student then tried to block out her neighbor’s visit so that she could focus on her studies. She stopped in the kitchen to top up her coffee on the way back to her desk. Forty minutes after she’d immersed herself in cognitive development and how nervous system functions affect learning, someone again leaned on the buzzer outside her apartment. Grumbling, she stomped over to the door and threw it open. This time, some smarmy salesman wanted her to subscribe to the local cable service. She didn’t even catch the name of the cable company because she was so distracted by the scraggly patch of hair that stuck out horizontally from the guy’s chin, bobbing up and down as he spoke. Blech! He reminded her of the unwashed Ian, who, thankfully, had been history for years.

 

Daphne suggested to Mr. Chin Rat that he go next door to apartment 5B. She told him she’d heard 5B was looking for a new television provider. *hehehe* It was Sherry’s turn for an interruption. Maybe she was even doing her neighbor a favor since the blonde ditz was drawn to just that sort of loser. Daphne speculated briefly as to whether Greasy Gustav or Sleazy Cable Guy would be the recipient of Sherry’s affections. Maybe both? Yech! She desperately needed brain bleach after entertaining that possibility. The salesman was far too similar in looks to Ian for her peace of mind. She’d endured Justin’s relationship with that loser for months before her pleas to a merciful god had been answered. At long last, the fiddler had fallen off the roof, which had almost been enough to make the young woman into a true believer.

 

After that, Daphne actually managed to study for nearly two hours before the phone rang. It was her mother. Naturally. She really wasn’t in the mood for another undoubtedly lengthy conversation, but she couldn’t blow her mom off since her parents paid her tuition and subsidized her apartment. “Yeah, Mom. Of course it’s great to hear from you.” *smothered yawn* “. . . Jodie’s getting married? Oh, yeah, incredibly exciting. And she wants me to be a bridesmaid?” Daphne rolled her eyes as she faked enthusiasm, “Wow. Can’t imagine anything I’d want more, Mom.” Since her family didn’t give her much choice, Daphne had decided to embrace the idea of being a bridesmaid - never a bride, please! - although having to trot down the aisle for so many cousins was becoming incredibly tedious. She puzzled yet again over whether her Aunt Darcy had ever heard of birth control. Nine kids was at least nine too many.

 

Personally, Daphne was far too busy playing Pittsburgh’s femme fatale to consider settling down. After kowtowing to Boring Brad during most of her freshman year at university, she’d had enough of relationships and expectations that she’d put someone else’s needs above her own. Besides, she didn’t have time to cater to a boyfriend if she was going to excel in her studies and her chosen career path. She particularly wanted to make a difference for teens who were victimized by bullies.

 

Daphne had already been considering that direction for her studies before Justin had been bashed, but that experience had intensified her focus. Never again did she want to feel as unequal to the task of helping someone as she had during the days, weeks, and months of Justin’s hospital stay and recovery. It wasn’t until she had begun her freshman year that Daphne had realized that she, too, was suffering from PTSD, frequently awakening from nightmares in the months following the prom. Her PTSD had been mild, however, in comparison to that sustained by Justin and Brian.

 

If her boys hadn’t had each other to turn to, she wasn’t sure either of them would have survived. That PTSD still reared its ugly head occasionally, which made her especially grateful that Justin hadn’t taken long to decide that Pittsburgh, not New York, was the place he wanted to be. Plain and simple, they needed each other to be truly happy.

 

After ditching Brad, Daphne had decided to take a leaf out of the Brian Kinney Operating Manual and avoid relationships. Maybe she’d be as successful at that as the brunet stud had been for so many years - at least until she met a hetero Justin Taylor or Brian Kinney - which she couldn’t imagine happening anytime soon. Getting in and out with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit was working out quite well, allowing her to take full advantage of her finite free time.

 

The young woman did begrudgingly allow repeats when her busy schedule limited her options. Matt, one of the other students who’d started the psychiatry curriculum at the same time as Daphne, was tolerably decent looking and had a stout cock. That sizable schlong usually made up for his less than adventurous outlook, especially when she needed a quick fix between classes.

 

Once she’d convinced Justin to take her virginity, Daphne hadn’t been able to stop lusting after thick dicks. Damn, but that boy was hung! She’d seen him naked before that since neither of them was overly modest; they’d often changed clothes together in one of their bedrooms. Even in a flaccid state, his cock was impressive, but fully erect it was mouth-watering.

 

No question - she was a proud size queen! The only other reason to go back for seconds was if a guy put on a stellar performance, particularly if he knew how to use his tongue and was passionate about doing so. Way too many fish in the sea, though, to go the one-man-only route. Fuck buddies, fine. One Steady Eddie, no way.

 

Daphne briefly tuned back into her mom’s enthusiastic recital of Jodie’s wedding plans. The young woman futilely hoped her mom wouldn’t try and set her up with a blind date for Jodie’s wedding; the last wedding escort her mother had found for her had been such a bore that she’d fallen asleep during the reception and had ended up tilting forward into her slice of wedding cake. Those chocolate and raspberry smears on her face really hadn’t been attractive although, in her opinion, they had immeasurably improved that ruffle-bedecked pink monstrosity of a dress she had been forced to wear.

 

Daphne glanced at the clock, worried that it would be at least an hour before she’d be able to get back to her neuroscience studies. Telling the older woman that she needed to study had never been very effective in derailing her mother’s chatter. Mrs. Chanders knew that Daphne had always excelled in her classes and didn’t expect that to change. Both her parents were exceedingly proud of Daphne for getting into the top institution for psychiatry in the country - as they always bragged to their country club pals - but neither of them seemed to grasp how much effort their daughter had to put forth in order to maintain her standing at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.

 

Daphne toyed - for the third time in as many calls - with telling her mom that she was too busy writing gay porn to talk any longer - and that her readers were waiting with bated breath for the next scene. Couldn’t take the chance, however, that her parents might cut off funding for her studies. Even worse, her mom might show up on her doorstep to offer ‘helpful’ suggestions as she crafted the porn that was, so far, entirely imaginary. Not that she didn’t have plenty of fodder for said stories. And she knew Brian and Justin would be more than happy to help with research as well as being the stars of her tales, but she wouldn’t have the time to pursue that endeavor until she’d finished her studies and her residency.

 

“Tell Jodie to give me a call, Mom. Doubt I’ll be able to go shopping for bridesmaid’s dresses with her, though. Too many midterms coming up in my classes as well as research papers to write. I’m sure whatever she, Delilah, Theresa, and Heloise choose will be just the thing.” The most horrible ‘thing’ possible, Daphne remained convinced. Heloise had phenomenally bad taste but probably couldn’t help it, burdened with a name like that. Most of the family, nevertheless, listened to Heloise as though she were the second coming. Whatever. Daphne would only have to wear the fuchsia gunnysack for one day and would donate the dress to Goodwill afterwards, just like she’d done the four times before. It wasn’t as if she’d be showing the photos to prospective bridegrooms.

 

Once her mom finally rang off, Daphne returned to her desk, but she hadn’t been sitting there for more than five minutes when the knocking started at her door. She tried to ignore it, but that persistent, irritating noise wouldn’t stop. She threw her hands up in exasperation, stomped over to the door, and yanked it open, glaring at the two hapless young men on the other side who looked like they were desperately in need of fashion advice. So strait-laced. Utterly boring. Daphne groaned inwardly because it was so clear they were from the Church of Latter-day Saints that the duo might as well have had ‘LDS’ stamped on their foreheads. They were attired in nearly identical clothes, nametag, notepad, and pen weighing down their shirt pockets, Mormon bibles and brochures in hand. And they were both sweating profusely in the warm weather but not compromising on their outfits, except for the redhead wearing a short-sleeved white shirt - possibly indicating he was the senior LDS missionary.

 

Dialing down the glare because she pitied these novice priests in the Latter-day Saints’ hierarchy, Daphne took a better look at the two men. Hmm. The dark-haired guy wasn’t so bad. He might even be cute if he lost the fugly clothes and keychain, styled his hair, and left the Book of Mormon at home. Didn’t look like there was much hope for the redhead, however. That severe side part in his hair, the constipated separation of his lips that was supposed to pass for a smile, and the bit of flab around his belly . . . Yikes! He’d never gain any converts with that demeanor.

 

Daphne decided to take pity on the miserable-looking creatures and be polite. Compared to some religious zealots, Mormons could usually take a hint, so they should soon be on their way to try and convert someone else. The redhead might not be that easy to get rid of, however; he’d stopped smiling and was casting a judgmental look her way. What the fuck? No new zits, the young woman was sure; she’d checked in the bathroom mirror that morning. Her apparel - a blue, short-sleeved, crew-neck tee; grey, sweat-style shorts; and flip-flops - shouldn’t be drawing such a disapproving stare. So what if the tee and shorts were figure hugging? They weren’t at all obscene. Even if she’d looked like a hooker, Daph wouldn’t have cared. She was in her own home and could dress how she wanted. It wasn’t as if this pathetic prude had the power to turn her into a pillar of salt; Daphne was convinced Lot’s wife had gotten a bad rap anyhow.

 

Mr. Prim and Proper once more flashed his constipated half-smile and introduced himself and his companion. “I’m Decken and this is Truesen. We’re from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’d like to give you a copy of the Book of Mormon, tell you about the one true Church, and help you find the path to salvation.”

 

Dick-in? True-sin? Wait till she told her boys about this. They were going to laugh themselves silly. Daphne swallowed a snicker, barely managing to turn it into a cough. “Uh, gentlemen. That’s a very generous offer, to be sure, but I’m Methodist. Born and bred. Not interested in converting.” The mahogany-haired beauty believed the church in which she’d been raised had to come in handy once in a while. Except for four family weddings and a funeral, she hadn’t set foot inside a Christian house of worship since she learned how indifferent God was towards the hate crimes directed at the LGBTQ community. The United Methodist Church preached that ‘the practice of homosexuality was incompatible with Christian teachings,’ which made the UMC incompatible with Daphne. Since she had been raised in the church, however, she figured that would help her get rid of these deadly dull missionaries.

 

“Miss, as a true Methodist, your beliefs aren’t all that different from ours,” the not-quite-as-dorky Truesen stated somewhat diffidently. That earned him a sidelong scowl from Decken, who apparently didn’t believe that any other church’s teaching could be favorably compared with those of the LDS. “We can show you a better path to God’s grace, though, and teach you how to lead an exemplary life.” Trusen tried to push a copy of the Book of Mormon into Daphne’s hand, but she refused to hold onto it, letting their holy book drop onto the ground.

 

The two young proselytizers emitted twin gasps of outrage and looked at Daphne in horror. “How could you do that?” Decken shouted semi-hysterically. “I don’t think even a heathen would have acted so reprehensibly.” He gripped Daphne by the arm and shoved her backward a step. “We’ll come in and pray with you for forgiveness and enlightenment.”

 

Enough with the forbearance and understanding, Daphne decided. “Sure, why not? You look like a likely pair of lads for a gay porn story I’m writing,” the lass averred in a suddenly-salacious voice. “I’m in the process of composing a sex scene in which the more slightly-built man manhandles and tops the bigger, stronger dude. I can’t get the mechanics quite right. Would you mind performing for me?” she asked with a bright smile, stepping to the side, and inviting them to enter with a wave.

 

What did that fleeting look that had crossed dark-hair’s face mean? Daphne conjectured. She’d anticipated similar expressions of abhorrence, but, ‘True Sin’ had almost seemed . . . intrigued. Daphne shrugged infinitesimally; it didn’t really matter to her. It could even have been a figment of her imagination since the shorter guy’s expression now mirrored his partner’s gaping horror.

 

The two men, who’d been frozen in place by the unholy nature of her request, began backpedaling away from her door. Decken lost all awareness of his surroundings and went tumbling down the stairs. Daphne could have sworn that she’d seen another flicker of interest in Truesen’s eyes before he hurried to help his colleague stand up and brush himself off. “You’re going to be banished from God’s light forever, young woman, if you don’t mend your ways!” Decken declaimed over his shoulder, shaking a bit with righteous anger as he leaned on Truesen and limped away as fast as possible.

 

“I’d rather dance with the devil and party with my friends in hell than spend an eternity of boredom with you and your ilk,” the feisty lass shot back. She cackled as the lads skedaddled, sparing not an ounce of charity for either man, particularly the pompous, pedantic redhead.

 

That evening, Daphne was primping in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready to head to Woody’s to meet Brian and Justin for drinks and a game of pool. She hoped Emmett would show up too since she wanted to confer with him about her outfit for the gala celebration of Kinnetik’s second anniversary. It was less than two weeks till the big celebration. No surprise that Brian was going all out. All the Pittsburgh movers and shakers, including Mayor Deakins, would be there, along with clients from Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. For such a young, relatively-small, boutique company, Kinnetik was attracting nationwide attention within the advertising industry. There were even rumors - which Daphne knew were true via Justin - that they’d soon be marketing Asbach Uralt brandies and chocolates in the U.S., for the exclusive distillery based in Rüdesheim on the Rhine, Germany.

 

The Asbach brass had already rejected proposals from three major advertising companies in New York City and had just about given up on finding an agency based in the U.S. They couldn’t see how the campaigns that had been pitched would entice enough customers to try their products. One of the artists with ABC Advertising had quietly approached them after Asbach had declined their campaign and had suggested that they try Kinnetik in Pittsburgh. Stan had applied for a position with the up-and-coming firm and, although he hadn’t been hired, his name had been placed on a shortlist for future openings. Stan had told Mr. Dietz and Ms. Baumbach that Brian Kinney, the founder of Kinnetik, could provide entrée into the gay community as well as giving their products a subtly sexual spin that would appeal to heteros. Dietz and Baumbach had been rather skeptical about using such a small firm, but they’d decided to give them a try once they discovered that Brown Athletics was one of their clients. Mr. Dietz, it turned out, was the proud owner of a pair of Brown’s running shoes.

 

The Asbach contingent had traveled to Pittsburgh two days later for what they had thought would be a preliminary meeting. They’d been blown away by the sleek, modern premises; the suave, articulate Mr. Kinney; and the energetic, innovative artistic team. They were particularly impressed that Kinnetik had developed an entire marketing strategy without any guarantee that they would get the contract. The boards that Justin had designed were a key component, making Asbach Uralt appealing and irresistible to men and women alike.

 

Dietz and Baumbach had signed with Kinnetik on the spot. They planned to attend the gala and would then return to Rüdesheim with Justin, Ted, and a couple of employees from the Art Department. Brian would join them a few days later after traveling from Los Angeles. Daphne was practically bursting with excitement because Justin had invited her to go with him. Now, that’s what best friends were for! Well, that, and mouthwatering gay porn. Now that she thought about it, she needed Emmett’s advice on what to wear on her German adventure as well as her ensemble for the gala. Her upcoming evening with the boys would be the only real outing she’d had in the last month. It seemed like she’d been studying night and day in order to carve out time for the trip.

 

Emmett had confided in Daphne that although Brian had entrusted him with providing superlative catering service, the ad exec was still driving the party planner bonkers with his constant checkups and questions regarding the event. “Sheesh,” Daphne had muttered to herself. The man hired extraordinarily capable staff; he just needed to let them do their jobs without interference or scathing put-downs. Of course, Emmett had it easy compared to the regular staff at Kinnetik, especially in the Art Department. The only artist who didn’t regularly fall afoul of Brian’s notorious temper was Justin, who freelanced projects in between his studies at PIFA and painting more masterpieces.

 

Daphne checked once more that all zits had been concealed - was she ever going to grow out of that damned acne? - applied a final coat of lipstick, ran the brush through her hair again, and declared to her mirror image, “You’ll do.” She turned off the light in the bathroom and grabbed her wallet and phone, ready to head out for a night out on the town. After opening the front door, Daphne jumped in fright when she came face to face with Truesen.

 

“What’re you doing here?” Daphne yelped in a strangled voice, heart drumming inside her chest. Her hand crept toward the Mace in her purse. No way was she gonna let some religious nutcase molest her.

 

“P . . . p . . . please. Don’t be scared,” the dorky Mormon implored in a hoarse whisper, his gaze darting all around as if afraid someone was going to espy him at any moment and drag him away by the short hairs. “I . . . I . . . I . . . n . . . need. . .” the nervous wreck stuttered.

 

It dawned on Daphne that Truesen wanted her help. He was clearly terrified that someone was going to see him talking to her. The young woman’s momentary suspicion that the raven-haired Mormie wasn’t entirely straight came flooding back. “Are you gay?” she asked directly. She spoke quietly, not wanting to make the man tremble even harder.

 

“Maybe?” The dark-haired bundle of nerves responded in a low voice. “I never considered I might be until you talked about two men acting out a p . . . porn scene together,” Truesen gushed desperately. “I’ve never been interested in women, but I figured I just hadn’t met the right one. I’m from Culdesac, a podunk town in Idaho and, except for family, was really isolated while I was growing up. My folks home-schooled me because they didn’t want to bus me to the public schools, where I might have been contaminated by unbelievers. The church teaches that both men and women should remain pure until they’re married.” With another furtive look at his surroundings, he beseechingly requested, “Please. Could we go into your apartment and talk more?”

 

Daphne hesitated for a moment before answering kindly but resolutely, “I can’t. I have fag hag duties to perform right now; I’m meeting friends at Woody’s on Liberty Avenue. If you have the balls” - Daphne firmly enunciated ‘balls’ to see if the mere mention of that part of his anatomy would scare away the young man - “to come with me, you can see what it’s like to be an out and proud gay man. If you’ve been as sequestered in the Mormon community as I suspect, it’ll undoubtedly be a scary, but ultimately worthwhile, experience.” She paused, hoping for an affirmative response from Truesen, but the tongue-tied Mormon kept shuffling his feet and didn’t utter a word. His look of longing conveyed what he wanted to say, though.

 

Daphne looped her right hand through the terrified young man’s left elbow and dragged him along willy-nilly. Even though she was a surprisingly strong young woman, particularly when she had determined on a course of action, it wasn’t as though Truesen couldn’t pull away if he wanted to. She did admire the young Mormon for asking her for assistance; that took gumption and was obviously a big step. Plus, he hadn’t balked at the idea of visiting Liberty Avenue with her. He was going to be more than shocked, but he might just overcome his terror - as her best friend had once done. Much of Daphne’s sympathy stemmed from remembering Justin’s bravery in exploring his sexual identity while also being somewhat terrified to do so. It would be more difficult for True Sin to overcome his trepidation, which was the main reason she thought the sink or swim approach would work best. If the boy were allowed to dither and discuss his options, he’d probably do so endlessly, perhaps never overcoming his strict upbringing.

 

Daphne’s motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Sure, she wanted to help the young man accept himself, but she’d only just met him and couldn’t really judge his character yet. Part of her impetus was mischievous, but not maliciously so, as she anticipated Justin and Brian’s reactions to this shy virgin. *hehehe* She couldn’t wait to hear the way Brian would deliberately mangle this kid’s name. True would have to adapt quickly if he wanted to hold her boys’ attention and learn from them. Out of the frying pan and into the fire for her neophyte.

 

Song for Chapter 1

Blood, Sweat & Tears: Spinning Wheel [ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFEewD4EVwU ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFEewD4EVwU)

 


	2. Revelations, Part 1 (aka Initiations, Part 1)

“Uh, Trusie, better lose your bible,” Daphne commented as they approached her favorite watering hole. Luckily, it was early in the evening, or even more of the denizens of Liberty Avenue would have been staring in shock at the primly dressed Mormon walking down their street, trying to shield himself behind the much smaller, auburn-haired girl. Some of them would have mocked the uptight straight boy for invading their territory if he hadn't been accompanied by the neighborhood’s favorite fag hag, who called out greetings as she strolled along.

 

Mouth agape, Truesen took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the gayborhood. He couldn’t even bring himself to mutter that the book he was carrying wasn’t a bible. His hands were so slick with nervous sweat that he was about to drop the not-bible anyhow. He wasn’t quite sure why he’d allowed the whirlwind that was Daphne to pull him along. Maybe it was like Daphne had said as they’d ambled down the street, “You need to rip off the bandage that’s hiding who you are, True Sin. You’ll never be happy if you don’t.”

 

“But what if I lose my family? My friends?” Truesen had semi-wailed in anxiety. “They’re all true believers. They believe - as I did until the start of my missionary service - that one has to remain chaste outside of marriage, and that marriage is just between a man and a woman.” It was only when he’d been exposed to more people, however briefly, as a missionary that niggling doubts had started to arise. Doubts that had coalesced when he’d met Daphne.

 

The petite brunette had halted and turned to Truesen, placing her hands on his shoulders, “If they really love you, True, they’ll accept you. It may take them a while, but love will eventually win them over.” The young lass had continued, “It won’t be easy. There’ll probably be many times that you’ll wish you were straight, when you’ll want to crawl back into the closet. Remember, though, even if you do lose some of your family and friends, you’re going to make new friends. Ones who will understand you, accept you for who you are, and support you in becoming the best homosexual you can be.”

 

Just holding hands with another man had been a foreign concept to the young Mormon but, as he walked down Pittsburgh’s gay avenue, the men he saw were doing a lot more than that. The raven-haired boy had to tear his eyes away when he saw a muscular, tallish man dressed in a leather harness and not much else slip his hand into the back of his companion’s fuchsia shorts, apparently rubbing his fingers along the fag’s crack. The drawn-out moans that Purple Shorts emitted indicated he was very appreciative of Leather Harness’ fondling. A drop of drool combined with perspiration trailed from the corner of Truesen’s mouth, down his chin, and then splotted onto his shirt as he took in the cute, curly-haired, shirtless blond leaning against the wall outside their apparent destination.

 

“Hey, Todd. How’s it going?” Daphne asked as she opened the door to Woody’s. 

 

“Not so fine,” answered the rather dejected-looking young man. “Wouldya tell Brian he needs to reopen Babylon pronto? There’s just no place like home.”

 

Daphne nodded to indicate she’d pass on Todd’s message. Although the young woman was privy to the discussions between Brian and Justin on that topic, she wasn’t about to divulge their decision until they were ready to make it public. She definitely agreed with Todd that Popperz was a tawdry substitute for Babylon. Tricking at Babylon had become as much second nature to her as it was for her studly duo. Some of the bartenders and deejays were straight or at least bi. Daphne had enjoyed quite a few rousing romps with those boys. Heck, one or two of them had even justified a repeat.

  
  


As she entered the most popular bar in all of gay Pittsburgh, Daphne scanned the main room for her men, concentrating on the bar and the pool tables. That’s when she realized True was no longer at her back. What the fuck! Scowling, Daphne jerked the door back open. When she saw her Mormon frozen in place, salivating over Todd, her expression softened. “C’mon in, Trusie. Todd’s a consummate bottom; he’s not gonna be able to initiate you into the joys of your prostate.” True didn’t move, apparently not hearing his umber-haired guide, so Daphne reached out and pinched him firmly on his right butt cheek.

 

Truesen jumped straight up into the air, landed awkwardly, and glared at Daphne. “Why’d you do that?” He peered around anxiously as if expecting his brother Mormon to appear and condemn him to everlasting darkness.

 

“True, I repeat, that  [ boy is a bottom ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0kqobQRcUo&oref=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Ds0kqobQRcUo&has_verified=1) . He can’t introduce you to the joys of gay sex. What you need is a considerate, experienced top, who knows what he’s doing.” Daphne yanked on Truesen’s arm, pulling him through the doorway even though his gaze still lingered on the handsome blond bottom. True tripped over the doorsill and almost did a face plant onto Woody’s floor, windmilling wildly with his arms to avoid falling. He flushed a bright crimson at the ribald catcalls and mirth which greeted his klutzy entrance to the bar.

 

“Who’s the loser, Daphne?” called a bear clad in leather chaps, which he’d donned over a jock strap.

 

“Pretty boy, c’mere and I’ll let you suck my groin ferret!” a dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar to the young lass shouted. Oh. My. God. It was the butt-ugly Zucchini Man! Daphne hadn’t caught sight of him since the fiasco at the loft a few years earlier. *sigh* What had Brian been thinking to fuck someone so beneath his usual standards? Oh, yeah, right. Fugly had taken advantage of Brian’s ‘relationship’ phobia, and the brunet stud had - as was to be expected - retaliated against Justin. 

 

Daphne’s gloom lightened, however, as she thought about the ‘new and improved Kinney’, the one she should see any moment. When True Sin clutched her hand more tightly, she glanced over to see him quaking in fear. What was he so scared of?

 

“Here, boy. Here, boy.” chanted a trio in unison, sending kissy noises to attract Truesen’s attention. “We’ll teach you how to walk on three legs, boy!”

 

Mormon Boy’s face was now a blotchy puce. Daphne shook her head in disbelief. That trio’s teasing was a bit unkind, but it was still fairly harmless hazing. Truesen should have just shrugged it off. How the hell was she going to convince Justin and Brian to help this hopeless homo if he couldn’t fend for himself at all?

 

Daphne finally espied her fags sucking face at the pool table nearest the back wall. *Eww!* Daphne almost dropped True’s hand immediately after grabbing it to tow him toward her buddies. Cold, clammy sweat now covered her palm too. Yuck!

 

Truesen lagged behind the mahogany-haired whirlwind, his dazed expression conveying a combination of shocked horror and rapt fascination as he watched a slender, young blond all but climb a tall, svelte brunet in an effort to get even closer to the older man he was avidly kissing. So entranced that he forgot to watch where he was going, Truesen stumbled into Daphne when she stopped next to her boys, in no hurry to call a halt to Justin’s tree-climbing expedition. The Mormon’s stumble knocked Daphne into Justin which, in a domino effect, pushed Justin forcefully against Brian. The brunet tipped over onto the pool table, landing on his back on the green felt, pulling Justin, who was adhered to Brian’s body like a limpet, down on top of himself. Horizontal surface? Check. Signal to continue their frotting? Check. The dynamic duo became even more amatory, never pausing in their explorations of one another’s bodies. Brian palmed one of the blond’s lush globes in his right hand, pushing the younger man’s t-shirt upward so that he could tug the reinserted nipple ring with his left hand. Of course, the blond had always been on to him about the nipple ring, especially since Brian - who’d professed indifference - had focused an awful lot of attention on it.

 

“Fuck, Stud. Gotta get these jeans off,” Justin demanded, “because I need you inside me NOW.”

 

In response, Brian wriggled about underneath Justin, trying to shove his jeans and the blond’s cargo pants down simultaneously. Neither of the men noticed Daphne, her strait-laced sidekick, or any of the avid admirers now surrounding the pool table. The commentary and the placing of bets flew fast and furious among the horde of horny men.

 

“Shiiit. I wanna change my bet to five minutes. No way they’re gonna last any longer than that.”

 

“Hah! Three minutes max!”

 

“Lookit those hips piston!”

 

“Goddammit, I just came in my pants. Couldn’t hold out any longer.”

 

“Boys!” No response. “Brian! Baby! Please! As much as I wanna keep watching, you can’t do this here. The management will kick you out. You know there’s no other decent gay watering hole in the Pitts.” Out of desperation, Emmett grabbed a pool cue and poked Brian in the side with the chalked tip.

 

A loud popping resounded from the table as the suction was released and the two-headed beast resolved into two gasping, panting men. “What the fuck, Honeycutt!” Brian growled menacingly, after tearing his lips away from the blond’s. 

 

The blond rasped out, “Em, ya know you’re welcome to watch. You’ve added your hallelujahs to the backroom chorus plenty of times.”

 

“Baby, there’s no one I’d rather watch than you and the Big Bad. But . . .” the flamboyant queen tailed off, reaching down to adjust his dick, which was pressing painfully against his fly. What had he been thinking when he’d selected these psychedelic orange, blue, and purple pleather pants for tonight’s outing? The legwear had been too tight before he gained the two pounds he’d been struggling to lose for the past month. There really was such a thing as being too conscious of maintaining one’s status as the most fashionably dressed queen in town. He’d remember that next time. Too late now - he had to rescue his friends, particularly his Baby, from imminent eviction from Woody’s.

  
  


While Emmett had been attempting to ease the uncomfortable constriction of his protruding pecker, the lascivious onlookers had been booing and shouting for him to bugger off. The flamboyant queen resolutely grasped the pool stick, preparing to prod his friends, who’d again merged into a humping beast with four legs and four arms.

 

“C’mon, man, I’ve got a tenner riding on this fuck,” a rambunctious redhead complained.

 

“You clueless cluck,” Emmett exploded, “didn’t you hear me say that our two studs are about to be banned from Woody’s? Some dickwad lodged a written complaint through the PPD about public sex in the main rooms of bars on Liberty Avenue. Since this is the most popular bar in the neighborhood, it’s clear that Woody’s is being targeted.” Emmett flung his arms out dramatically and shouted at the crowd, “Do we want to give the mayor grounds to appoint another homo-hater like Stockwell as chief of the PPD?”

 

“Hell, no!” the spectators caroled in unison.

 

“Then let’s help our boys before their cocks are banned from Woody’s!” With Emmett directing the proceedings, five of the looky-loos pried Justin off of Brian. One particularly brave voyeur reached over and buttoned up the brunet’s jeans while four other men sat on the brunet stud’s arms and legs.

 

“Honeycutt!” bellowed the beleaguered brunet, “I’m gonna plant my boot so far up your ass that you won’t be bottoming for the rest of your life because, no matter how big the dick, it’ll just fall right through.” Brian thrashed about on the green baize, attempting to free himself so he could deliver the threatened ass-kicking.

 

“Don’t call me Honeycutt!” was Em’s automatic response, practiced thousands of times through years of friendship. Em was well aware that the brunet only needled him because he got a rise out of the queen every time; he couldn’t cheat the brunet out of his fun by not rebutting as expected. “Listen, Bri,” the flamboyant man condescendingly continued - intentionally using the nickname that the stud normally didn’t allow anyone except Justin to utter, “I know that you’re happy enough - in lieu of Woody’s - to frequent Mahoney’s Irish Pub, which is just a hop, skip, and a jump from your loft. The heteros there, however, simply can’t comprehend a brightly burning flame like mine. Plus, those so-called straight men don’t want to take a walk on the wild side with me as often as they do with you.” Emmett continued his digression, pouting over the unfairness of it, “You’d think that all those lusty Irish lads would be like Drewsie - certain they’re not gay as long as they’re not bottoming, but nooooo. They simply drop trou and bend over for you rather than accepting my invitation.”

 

Brian and Justin, straining against their captors’ holds, had succeeded in stretching out their necks just far enough that they could seal their lips together again. They disregarded the patter from their self-appointed rescuer, so intent on finishing what they’d just begun that they didn’t hear him. 

 

A piercing whistle halted all activity, freezing almost everyone in place and causing the studs to spring backwards, breaking their lip-lock. Justin clouted one of his jailers on the chin, and Brian came down hard on the foot of one of his guards. Colorful complaints filled the air. When Brian tilted his head backward, he caught Daphne with her thumb and forefinger in her mouth, about to emit another horrendously high-pitched blast. 

 

Before Brian could express his outrage, his bodacious blond partner admiringly exclaimed, “Goddamn, Daph!” momentarily ceasing his struggles to free himself from his human restraints, “When did you learn to pipe out a whistle like that?”

 

“If you two knuckleheads would just listen to Auntie Em, you’d know he had good cause for interrupting your playtime,” their ballsy fag hag admonished. 

 

“And the point is . . . ?” Brian interjected sarcastically. “You do have a point, right, Honeycutt?”

 

Emmett ignored the brunet’s rude question, nodding regally at Daphne in acknowledgement of her assistance. Now that the two studs and their audience were actually listening to him, he related the latest tale of potential conflict between the PPD and Pittsburgh’s fabulous fags. Whether or not a written complaint really had been filed, everyone on Liberty Avenue needed to take the threat seriously.

 

“You may have a point,” Brian reluctantly conceded.

 

Justin nodded in agreement, a shudder rippling down his body, “No more Stockwells.”

 

Emmett looked at them in silence for a long moment before saying to their captors, “I think it’s safe to release them now.”

 

The guards looked a bit reluctant but let go of both the brunet and the blond. Although the two gravitated toward one another and exchanged a protracted kiss, they were otherwise quite decorous. They glanced at one another, silently conferring, before Justin tugged on Brian’s hands, turning both of them toward the door.

  
  


Daphne, who suspected her friends were about to charge off to confer with Carl, intervened, “Boys, I need your help with a project. I have an, uh . . .” the young woman paused, unsure how to describe her Mormon tagalong, before continuing, “. . . acquaintance who’s just come out of the closet.”

 

Daphne attempted to shift to the side, so that Truesen, who’d been cowering behind her during the pool table debacle, could step forth and be introduced. Not at all ready to confront two such flagrantly out and proud fags, the young Mormon sidestepped with Daphne, trying with marginal success to shelter himself behind her slender form.

 

“Ewww! It’s a . . . a . .. What is that, exactly?” asked the not-yet-pacified redheaded heckler as he stared in disgust at the Mormon invader.

 

“He’s a queer, just like you, pea-brain!” Daphne defended her fledgling fag friend. Turning to her best buds, she implored, “True Sin just needs you two to show him how to be the best homosexual he can be.”

 

The brunet stud drawled, “You do know the concept of me and Justin starting a school to teach the joys of gay sex to underprivileged gay youth was a joke, right, Daphne? Fuck, all the gang were high as kites when Justin suggested that and I seconded the motion.”

 

“But, honey, you’d be such a good professor,” Emmett chimed in. “Carnal Arts 101. I’m sure I could sign up Fetch Dixon as a guest lecturer.”

 

Brian ignored Em’s interjection, “And virgins? Look what happened the last time I picked up and fucked a virgin. Never got rid of him!”

 

“The luckiest you’ve ever been, Stud,” Justin asserted, lasciviously licking his lips while raking a stare down Brian’s body, stopping at the bulge of the big guy’s crotch. When the brunet didn’t contradict his statement, Justin knew that was just as much a confession of love as the three words Brian rarely uttered.

 

“Hands OFF, Honeycutt!” bellowed Brian when the tall queen sauntered over to HIS blond boy, presumably to whisper some advice about the fundamentals of fledgling fag instruction, pressed a kiss against Justin’s temple, and then slid a hand down the blond’s back toward that luscious derriere.

 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Stud,” the quintessential queen riposted, winking at Justin as he removed his hand and turned away. Really, it was far too easy to arouse the brunet’s possessive, caveman instincts. Emmett wouldn’t have been surprised if Brian started beating on his chest with both fists while grunting, ‘Mine. All mine. No touch.’

While the three friends bantered with each other, Truesen began shaking more and more violently. Surely the young lady - the first person he’d come out to - didn’t expect him to give up his virginity to these two amoral, albeit delectably delicious, men? As a good Mormon boy, he’d been expected to refrain from sexual relations outside the marriage bed. “I . . . I . . . I can’t d-do this,” he stuttered, attempting to back away but prevented from doing so by the crowd surrounding the pool table.

 

“Can’t do what, True Sin?” Justin walked up to the virginal Mormon and gave him a once over. On the short side, maybe 5’6” - that was rather appealing to the blond, who topped out at 5’8”, although he usually stretched that by an inch whenever anyone wanted to know his height. Kinda scrawny looking. Prim, proper, and uptight - looked like he was headed to a prayer meeting. Boring, baggy, white and black clothes. Unstyled, flat hair. Hmm, the sparkling blue eyes were nice. Probably not enough to work with, though. Justin had his doubts that even JT and Rage - his and Brian’s alter egos - could have done much to help this pathetic, terrified boy.

 

“How’d you get a moniker like True Sin, anyhow?” Justin inquired, biting down on his bottom lip in an effort to stifle his laughter - no need to make the boy cringe even more.  “How, exactly, is a ‘true sin’ different from a ‘false sin’? Does providing an example of a True Sinner help you convert nonbelievers?”

 

“It’s Truesen, NOT True Sin!” the indignant young man vehemently protested, speaking up in spite of his overt fear. “And a sin’s is a sin, regardless,” he spluttered, red-faced.

 

“Sounds the same to me, Mormie Boy,” proclaimed Brian, sauntering over to True Sin and Justin. “But I gotta admit, if you want to be truly sinful, Daphne’s brought you to the two most accomplished sinners in Pennsylvania.”

 

“Ooh! He must be feeling unusually modest today. He usually claims the eastern half of the continent as his domain,” warbled an observer who was concealed by the horny horde of fags.

 

Brian’s assessment of True Sin matched Justin’s - dull, dull, dull. He wouldn’t commit to taking this one on without at least a little something to make it worthwhile. “We need to see you without the frumpy attire, boy. Lose the boring shirt, Sinful, so my partner and I can decide whether it’d be worth the bother to take you home,” Brian demanded.

 

When Truesen didn’t move, Justin murmured, “Here. Let me, Sinner.” He reached out and quickly started unbuttoning the boring, wilted, wrinkled, white dress shirt. Then the blond slipped the shirt collar underneath the tie, choosing to leave that item around the Mormon’s neck. Finally, he unbuttoned the cuffs and allowed the shirt to drop off the boy’s arms and pool on the floor.

 

“Christ. You’re even wearing a baggy, white, crew-neck t-shirt.” Brian noted, backing away a bit, apparently ready to give up from disinterest before the trembling boy’s torso had been fully exposed.

 

“Hold on, Bri,” the youthful blond requested. “I think our Sinner may have been disguising a tempting torso beneath his white-on-white ensemble.” Justin quickly pulled the sweat-stained white tee over Sin’s head, indeed revealing some rather pleasing muscles. The blond discarded the tee on top of the white dress shirt, leaving the tie around Mormie Boy’s neck.

 

A flicker of interest lit the brunet’s hazel eyes. He moved forward once more, standing next to Justin and stroking a hand across True Sin’s stomach through the t-shirt material, one hand gliding upward to one of the boy’s nipples while the other hand reached around to repetitively squeeze and release a flat ass cheek. Ah, well, the stud reflected, not every fag was blessed with a bubble butt like his partner’s. And, as long as he got his minimum daily ration of rimming, biting, fondling, and fucking with that pleasingly plump posterior, Brian supposed he could accommodate a small defect or two in his tricks.

 

Justin mirrored Brian’s actions on their Sinner’s other side. The Mormon boy was panting heavily, as if he’d run a marathon. Blond and brunet heads inclined toward one another, and they simultaneously pinched the Mormie’s tender flesh while exchanging a lingering kiss. The tyro quivered mightily, screamed out “Aaaahahaaaaah!” and slumped forward onto the studly duo, breaking the lip-lock which had only just begun.

 

“What the fuck?!” Brian roared in disbelief. “Now THAT’S a sin, Mormon Boy. NEVER butt in when we’re swapping spit!”

 

“Uh, Brian,” muttered the blond - who’d stepped back a pace while still supporting True Sin with an arm around his back - urging his lover to step back, too.

 

The older man irritably shrugged off the warning until he followed Justin’s sardonic glance to his hip, against which True Sin’s groin rested. “For fuck’s sake!” the brunet bellowed, “tell me you didn’t come in your pants and then rub your mess all over me!”

 

Titters and guffaws could be heard from the crowd of men, some of whom had come in their own trousers, but none of whom would ever admit to that if they hoped to garner either stud’s interest for even fifteen minutes, much less a nightlong fuck-a-thon. “You’d think the man had never encountered a drop of come, wouldn’t you, mate?” rasped a voice in a Aussie accent. Shushing noises quickly quieted the too-verbose man from Down Under. Everyone fervently agreed with the Ozzie, but they knew better than to point out the inconsistencies in the stud’s behavior.

 

A spate of giggles caught the glowering brunet’s attention. Brian looked over at his blond brat, who - employing the brunet’s own trademark, tongue-in-cheek smirk - gasped out, “C’mon, Brian. It’s fuckin’ hilarious the way you act like you’re gonna have to burn those Diesel jeans just because a bit of come may have seeped through multiple layers of fabric onto your hip.” *teeheehee*

 

Brian sarcastically retorted, “How could I have suspected that this scared wittle rabbit would cream himself because of a brief squeeze and pinch. For fuck’s sake, Justin, you’d never touched another man at seventeen, but you lasted through the sight of my godlike body, fevered kisses, and a fifteen-minute handjob before you ejaculated all over my new duvet.”

 

“Aw, you say the sweetest things, Brian,” cooed Emmett. “You need to consider that Baby had probably been jerking himself off regularly from the time he was twelve years old, whereas Truesie here is just becoming acquainted with his dick. I’ve been having a chinwag with Miss Daphne, and we figure the boy has probably never even touched his dick except to tuck it into his underwear or hold it when he took a leak.”

 

“Isn’t that right, my Sweet Sinner?” Emmett asked the mortified Mormon sympathetically.

 

True Sin, his face now a virulent beet red, looked like he wanted to crawl under the pool table to get away from the pitying looks now being bestowed on him. His mouth opened and closed again and again, but no words emerged.

 

“I know he’s nowhere near the top of our list for tonight’s tantalizing trick, Brian, but we’ve got to give the poor sod a hand,” Justin implored. “Think of it as Christian charity.”

 

The brunet rolled his eyes but acquiesced with a shrug. “Whatever the fuck. Mormie Boy, Sunshine wants to school you about gay sex. You want to come with us and be a disciple in the Church of Brian and Justin for one night?”

 

Trusen simply stood there and gaped mutely.

 

“Well?” Brian demanded three minutes later when the petrified boy still hadn’t so much as blinked. The impatient man had waited that long only because he’d been busy groping his blond’s ass. He’d ignored the pleas from Woody’s other patrons to choose them instead of the clueless freshman fag. He would actually have preferred to have Sunshine to himself for the night since no one else came close to matching the boy’s prowess and stamina. Brian was willing, though, to accommodate Justin’s desire to introduce the neophyte to the joys of gay sex. It might even be entertaining to see how the blond handled a virgin. The brunet was positive, however, that there was no way Justin could surpass his own inauguration five years earlier.

 

“Take me.”

 

“No, me.”

 

“It’s MY turn. You got to suck off Blondie the other day in the park. I haven’t even had a dance with either man.”

 

“Oh, fuck off. I saw you grinding against Kinney last night at Popperz.”

 

The lusty fags began to push and shove at one another while insults and efforts at one-upmanship flew fast and furious. Thankfully, another ear-splitting whistle froze everyone in place before the self-selection process to accompany Justin and Brian turned into an all-out melee.

 

All the men looked at the petite brunette, who, in turn, stared at True Sin. Brian, who’d clearly given up on being a good Samaritan, nodded at Daphne and started toward the door.

 

“So,” he heard Justin ask, “are you coming or going? Or coming and then going? Or coming and staying with us?”

 

When Truesen still didn’t budge from his spot by the pool table, Justin shot Daphne a look of apology and headed toward the door, stopping in front of Emmett to give him a hug. With a conspiratorial wink, the flaming queen leaned in to exchange a hearty kiss with his Baby.

 

“Honeycutt! Hands off!” Brian bellowed as the door closed behind him.

 

Emmett chuckled, “He really does have eyes in the back of his head where you’re concerned, Sweetie.”

 

Justin grinned and gave his friend another quick kiss before following Brain. The Mormon apparently wasn’t ready to be saved.

 

Truesen looked around in consternation and wrung his hands. This decision would change his life forever, and he didn’t know if he was ready. He needed more time!

 

Daphne, who was watching True vacillate between going and staying, moved over and laid a comforting hand on his arm. “I know you’re scared, True. But Brian and Justin are experienced tops who can make your first time memorable, in a positive, life-affirming way.” She paused before amending, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They won’t offer again.”

 

Truesen trembled but, after swallowing convulsively, determined that he was going to follow Daphne’s advice. Mouthing ‘thank you’ at the young woman, he dashed toward the door. 

 

Thundering footsteps resounded behind Justin, the soon-to-be-ex Mormon rushing after the departing blond, grabbing his hand, and holding on for dear life. True didn’t say a word but was nevertheless clearly resolute about sampling some true sin.

  
  


The two young men caught up to Brian, who was leaning against his green Corvette. The brunet sighed, still skeptical about the budding sinner’s readiness to lose his virginity. True Sin was all big brown doe eyes and naked torso, shrinking behind Justin as soon as Brian so much as glanced at him. “Big Guy, how about you drive the dick-mobile home and park it where it won’t get vandalized?” the blond suggested. “No way could Sinner and I cram ourselves into the passenger seat.”

 

Brian muttered, “That bubble butt of yours had better be right behind me, Sunshine,” before climbing into the car and driving off. As the vehicle vanished from sight, Justin tugged on the tie which the Mormon still wore around his neck. “C’mon True Sin, this way.” Justin urged. 

 

“B . . . but, I can’t walk around half naked. It’s not proper!” the young man wailed, apparently just realizing that his shirt and tee were still decorating the floor in Woody’s.

 

Justin stared at the boy in exasperation. Even though Justin guessed that he and Sin were about the same age, the blond felt immeasurably older than the raven-haired boy. He’d been out and proud since he was seventeen. Sure, he’d had a lot of support from family and friends, but he’d always stood up for his principles. It was hard for Justin to imagine sublimating his awareness that he was gay. He could understand, if not exactly condone, staying in the closet; however, if Justin chose that option, he would damned well be aware that it was his choice - he would still know he was gay.

 

“Believe me, True Sin, you do NOT want to reclaim your shirts after they’ve sopped up all the liquor and other shit from that floor. It’s none too clean, you know,” Justin asserted in an attempt to divert the Mormon from haring back into the bar. “You’re better off getting a new shirt.”

 

“Besides, you can’t possibly be cold,” Justin added, “considering that, even though spring has just begun, we’re already sweltering in record-setting temps here in the Pitts.” True still didn’t seem convinced, so Justin decided to help out just a bit more. “Look, if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll take off my shirt, too.” With that, Justin freed his hand from Truesen’s hold, pulled off his azure blue tee, which almost perfectly matched the color of his eyes, and tucked it into his back pocket.

 

“Uh, al . . . alright,” Truesen agreed, crossing his arms protectively over his chest while Justin raised his eyes heavenward.

 

The simplest actions seemed to overwhelm this shrinking violet, the blond thought to himself. He counseled himself to be patient and to try to understand. Justin had deflowered a couple virgins by that point, but he’d never imagined anyone quite like this queer duck.

 

“Wha . . . What . . . What’s a bottom?” the Nervous Nellie stammered as they sauntered toward the loft. “The girl who brought me here - she said the c . . . cute guy leaning against the wall outside the b . . . bar was ‘a c . . . con . . . consummate b . . . bottom. The b . . . bottom of what?” The mixed-up Mormon rushed on, asking for answers before he lost the courage to do so, “And that, uh, colorfully dressed guy, what did he mean about not really being gay if you don’t b . . . bottom? Does it have something to do with jerking yourself off?”

 

When the blond started giggling, Truesen hung his head in mortification. He thought he must seem like a total prat. In spite of the dark-haired lad’s embarrassment, however, that giggle had an unexpected side effect. His penis - Truesen had never used any other word than that anatomically-correct appellation on the rare occasions when he’d had to refer to that particular body part - thickened and pushed against the fly of his dress slacks.

 

“True Sin, I’m not laughing at you.” the blond consoled his companion as another giggle escaped. “I’m remembering what an idiot I made of myself the night Brian picked me up. I told him I liked Cheerios better when he asked me if I liked Special K. I babbled on about being versatile - and ambidextrous - because I had no clue what a top or a bottom was. Fuck!” Justin guffawed at the memory, “I couldn’t even calculate my birth year fast enough to be believable when I claimed I was twenty-one.” Smugly, the blond added, “Didn’t matter, though. The guy couldn’t keep his hands off me. THIS virgin kept up with the Great God Kinney. Almost wore him out, in fact.”

 

“Uh, I still don’t know what a bottom is. Or a top. I don’t have a clue what versatile means. And Special K is a cereal.” Truesen stated earnestly.

 

How could he help this kid with his steep learning curve? Justin mused to himself. Justin may have made a prat of himself initially, but he’d been ballsy, stalking the brunet stud and refusing to take ‘no’ for an answer. True Sin was far more awkward and untutored in life in general, never mind the pitfalls and pleasures of being openly gay.

 

Truesen looked at the brash, confident young man walking next to him. He estimated that he was older than the blond by a couple of years, but he’d never exhibited the same certainty about anything, not even when he was proselytizing with Decken. Missionary service was required of all Mormons, so it wasn’t like he’d had a choice about it. He’d been happy enough to follow his colleague’s lead, not having even considered that his life might take a different direction. Now that he was veering wildly off course, Truesen felt his trepidation returning.

 

“Uh, Justin. It is Justin, right? We weren’t exactly introduced,” the Mormon babbled nervously. “Is it okay if I call you Justin? Anyway, I’m not so sure this is a good idea after all. Maybe I should just go back to my hotel and forget this evening ever happened.”

 

Justin stopped and looked at the Mormon sinner. “True, I’m not gonna tell you what you should do, and I’m certainly not going to force you to fuck me and Brian. And, just to be sure you understand, we’d be the ones doing the fucking - we’d be ‘topping’ you. As the ‘bottom’, you’d be the one penetrated.” Knowing it was unkind and crude, but not in the mood for a lengthy game of ‘should I or shouldn’t I’, Justin reached out and grabbed the Mormon’s ass cheeks, pressing a couple fingers against his crack through the polyester fabric. “We’ll be sticking our dicks in here,” he said huskily. “But, trust me, there’s nothing that feels better for a queer than having his prostate stimulated. If you don’t know what your prostate is, you can look it up in the dictionary. Fuck if I’ll define it for you, but I will show you how to find it.”

 

Noting how the other man’s breathing had sped up, Justin continued, “I can tell you want this True Sin, but you have to make the choice. I was damned lucky that I met Brian when I cruised Liberty Avenue for the first time. Anything could have happened. Heck, I could have been raped if I’d trusted the wrong person. But, even though Brian was high as a kite, he still took good care of me, making the experience pleasurable, so much so in fact, that we fucked again and again, all night long. There is some pain involved; it’s part of bottoming. But the pleasure far outweighs the pain. We’re willing to make your first time special, but YOU have to decide what you want.” Justin stepped back, spreading out his arms, and invited once more, “So are you coming or going? Or coming and then going? Or coming and staying?”

 

Truesen took a deep breath and, as he exhaled, almost shouted, “I’m coming with you.”

 

“Better,” responded Justin with a cheeky grin. “With a name like True Sin, you’re bound for a long and wondrous career as a queer.”

 

Truesen laughed wryly, “Enough with the mispronunciation. It’s True-sen, not True Sin.”

 

“I don’t hear the difference, Mormie Boy. I dub thee ‘True Sin’, the Pitts’ newest faggot!” Justin crowed, elbowing the Mormon in the side and winking at him.

 

“Justin, this really isn’t easy for me,” Truesen stated quietly as they resumed walking toward the city’s most notorious loft, “I don’t think any of my family or friends will ever talk to me again. Like I was telling your girlfriend . . .” Justin’s sardonic expression at ‘girlfriend’ halted Truesen’s rambling.

 

“Uh, if she’s not your girlfriend, what do you call her?” Truesen was getting more and more confused by all the new lingo. 

 

“She’s a ‘girl’ and she’s a ‘friend’, Mormie Boy. But that doesn’t automatically make her my ‘girlfriend’ any more than it makes her yours, should you happen to one day call her your friend.” Justin shook his head. “It’s quite simple really. She’s my friend. In fact, other than Brian, she’s my best friend.”

 

“B . . . but, she called herself a ‘f . . . fag hag’ when she dragged me from her apartment to that bar,” stuttered the bewildered Mormon. “What’s a ‘fag hag’?

 

Justin sighed, “You really do have a whole new language to learn, Sin. But for tonight at least, you have two gay sexperts to help you.” The blond elaborated, “You’ve already learned what a top and bottom are. Fag is obviously short for faggot, which is a derisive term straights use for gay men. But, since we refuse to accept it as belittling, we’ve adopted the term as one to be proud of. We’re queers, ass pirates, fags, buttfuckers, uphill gardeners, and butt bandits. We’re unashamed. We stand up for ourselves and each other. We’re out and proud.” Justin’s voice had risen with each word of his declaration, eliciting agreement from passersby.

 

“I’m a rump ranger!”

 

“I’m your neighborhood poofter!”

 

“Come visit me! I’m your bum chum!”

 

Justin waved an imaginary baton, directing the chorus, pointing at others who piped in with their favorite slang terms, before indicating it was  True Sin’s turn. When no response was immediately forthcoming, he waved his wand again, aimed it at the Mormon, and lifted his eyebrows in encouragement.

 

“I’m gay,” Truesen whispered.

 

“Louder,” mouthed the blond.

 

“I’m gay,” the boy got out at a nearly normal volume.

 

“Again. Louder,” Justin mimed.

 

“I’m GAY!” shouted the newborn faggot.

 

Whooping and hollering greeted that proclamation, with several of his fellow fags coming over to give True Sin hugs or pat him on the back. The former Mormon would later swear that the imaginary wand had trailed sparks of fairy dust, assisting him through his rebirth as a gay man. Those who heard the tale embroidered it further until it became an urban legend, that of Liberty Avenue’s very own born again gay.

  
  


After they resumed their walk to the loft, with some of the curious pedestrians following along behind them, the newborn queer asked, “So what is a fag hag, Justin? You never answered that question.”

 

“A fag hag is a straight woman who generally prefers the company of gay men - except for when she wants some dick of her own, of course,” Justin explained. “We queers are pretty damned hot and irresistible,” he stated, with what Truesen was coming to recognize as the assertive blond’s normal self-confidence. “A fag hag usually has a gay best friend.” Justin pointed at himself, “C’est moi for Daphne,” Then he elaborated further, “it can also be a woman who wishes she’d been born a gay man. I’ll hafta introduce you to the neighborhood’s most notorious hag. Debbie Novotny. She’s gonna love you.”

 

Justin’s chortling didn’t reassure Truesen that he wanted to meet a fag hag more brazen than Daphne.

 

“Okay. Uh, yeah, now I know something about f . . . fag hags. The young Mormon looked at the ground and confessed, “I’m still scared, J . . . Justin. This side of myself that I’ve j . . . just discovered,” Truesen faltered, “well, like I was saying to your h . . . hag, I was raised in Culdesac - a one-horse town in Idaho. I never had a moment to myself; one of my siblings - I’m the youngest of eight - was always around, checking to make sure that I behaved myself and followed the tenets of the Church. My mom and my siblings homeschooled me because we were so far from the nearest school, and also because she didn’t want me subjected to heathen influences. Only me, though. All the others were placed in public school by the time they started third grade. Maybe she always suspected that I was g . . . gay.” Even though he’d just announced his sexuality to the club-goers of Liberty Avenue, the word ‘gay’ wasn’t ready to blithely trip off his tongue. It was getting easier to say, though, he noted to himself. 

 

The soon-to-be ex-Mormon slowly and deliberately continued, “I remember one time when I must have been twelve or thirteen years old . . . A fellow had a flat tire on the edge of town. I’d been delivering groceries to old Mrs. McCorkle. I was one of the first to see the stranded motorist, and I recall being entranced by his swarthy good looks and his colorful outfit. He had on the prettiest yellow slacks . . .” Truesen petered off before recommencing his tale, “and I, uh, I got hard down there.” He gestured vaguely in the direction of his cock and stopped talking, blushing tomato red with embarrassment.

 

Justin couldn’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. Sheesh. This guy was such a prude that he apparently couldn’t even say ‘penis’. “Baby steps,” he muttered to himself. Maybe it would be easier for the overly-modest newbie to touch someone else’s cock rather than his own, the blond sexpert decided. He reached out for the boy’s hand and placed it over his own dick. “True Sin, this is my cock, my dick, my wang, my prick. In other words, it’s a schlong, a snake, and a joystick. My custard launcher that stands at attention, weeps for joy, and wilts temporarily after shooting its load. We’re going to become well acquainted with each other’s rods, so you’d better learn what to call your one-eyed monster, starting now. I can assure you that you have a perfectly adequate tool. Brian never would have agreed to your joining us if it weren’t a respectable knob. He’s too much of a size queen, and so am I. So squeeze my tonsil tickler and rejoice; you’ve qualified for baptism by Pittsburgh’s two most famous studs.” Justin’s smug grin might not have been modest, but it certainly was justified - as the clamor from the growing horde of queers attested.

 

“C’mon, Blondie. Stick that truncheon in me again!” One of the enterprising fags they’d passed on the street continued, “I’m lubed and ready for you!”

 

“Lemme suck your creamsicle, Taylor!” another bystander proposed.

 

A wandering hand reached around to fondle Justin’s todger before he slapped it away. “Really, Brandon,” he chided the man who’d been stalking him for months, “what makes you think you merit breaking my no repeats policy? Hankering for my sperm spitter up your ass just because you lost the bet with Brian, were then tossed outta the loft, and subsequently developed a fixation for bottoming, doesn’t justify a repeat.” Fed up with the obnoxious blond who’d thought to replace Brian as the Stud of Liberty Avenue and kept turning up everywhere Justin went, the far more attractive blond added, “You never really measured up to my standards anyway. Run along now.”

 

Shortly after Brandon turned tail and slinked away, the crowd reached Brian and Justin’s apartment building. Justin turned, let out a respectable whistle - even if it didn’t compare to Daphne’s - and addressed the throng, “Okay, men, I know you’re salivating to watch our new sinner’s deflowering, but think back to your first time. Would you have wanted someone else watching your first fumbling attempts at sex? Huh? I know I’ve become a living legend in Pittsburgh, but I would have been mortified if anyone else had seen me trying to act all brash and confident the first time I was alone with Brian.”

 

Heads nodded and murmurs of agreement filled the air. “Good luck, little virgin,’ offered one bear, placing a large, comforting hand on Truesen’s shoulder as he and two twinks walked away together. 

 

A tall brunet, who bore a passing resemblance to Brian, enviously reflected, “I’d give my left nut to spend another night with the studs. I had a terrible first experience as a bottom and was a top only for years. But after my night with those two experienced tops - the care they took with me and the pleasure they provided -  I’ve become versatile and enjoy both topping and bottoming. You’re in good hands, boy.” he reassured the nervous virgin before strolling off with a wistful smile on his face.

 

The rest of the crowd quickly dissipated, everyone presumably heading off to whatever their original destinations had been before they’d been diverted by the spectacle of Justin instructing the soon-to-be-deflowered virgin in basic gay etiquette and terminology.

  
  


Song for Chapter 2

Billy Joel: An Innocent Man

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xci1a3yE0PM&list=PLraUXdMOSKKHLiv8cSzKZ-tfIQmhpKZk0 ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xci1a3yE0PM&list=PLraUXdMOSKKHLiv8cSzKZ-tfIQmhpKZk0)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Brynn_Jones for discovering the ‘Boy is a Bottom’ video. I was in stitches during the holidays as I watched it again and again.
> 
> The fun with euphemisms was inspired by ‘Fiery Nights’ and the team that worked on the story. Check it out for summer shenanigans with Justin and Brian! http://www.kinnetikdreams.com/Adminftp/eFiction355/viewstory.php?sid=253


	3. Revelations, Part 2 (aka Initiations, Part 2)

Justin slid open the heavy metal door that marked the entrance to the loft and ushered True Sin in ahead of himself. When the Mormon boy abruptly stopped just past the doorsill, the blond almost knocked him over as he, too, tried to enter. He couldn’t even shove the metal slab over and latch the door with his tush sticking out into the hallway.

 

He peered over the Sinner’s shoulders, thinking it a rather nice change to be with a man shorter than himself. That didn’t happen very often as Brian tended to trick with tall, brunet clones of himself. Justin didn’t object since he was, after all, rather drawn to that body type - also usually choosing their takeout treats from Brian-clones.

 

Mellow jazz filtered into the loft through the stereo speakers, and a bottle of Beam plus three shot glasses rested on the coffee table. One of Justin’s eyebrows rose in astonishment that Brian had actually had the forethought to get out three glasses. The two of them often shared a drink - or guzzled directly from the bottle - and the brunet really didn’t give a fuck about the social niceties when it came to tricks. Justin gauged that his partner must be more invested in the greenhorn’s deflowering than he’d assumed. Maybe he even wanted to make the first time less painful for the neophyte fag? Nah. He probably just wanted to be the one to de-Mormon-ize the Sinner further by introducing him to alcohol. Justin was all over that notion; it probably wouldn’t take more than a couple of swallows to release the boy’s inhibitions.

 

When Justin saw how his favorite stud had busied himself while waiting for them - other than by tossing back his favorite bourbon - he licked his lips. Brian was naked, reclining against the back of the couch with his legs spread-eagled in front of him, feet propped up against the coffee table, chin tilted upward slightly, eyes half lidded as he stroked up and down along his nine-and-a-half inches of perfection. Downward - one fine-boned hand stroked while the other hand fondled his balls. Upward - the hand returned, caressing the length of that perfectly-shaped cock while Brian’s other hand kept playing with his sac. The brunet gave that deliciously-arousing twist to his fingers as his hand neared the head of his One-Eyed Jack, allowing just the tip to peek out from his fist for a moment.

 

Justin let out a sigh of contentment, resting his chin on Mormie Boy’s shoulder. Even though he was frozen in place, the Sinner’s balance seemed steady enough to the blond. Mmmhmmm. Fine time for another lesson in the carnal arts. He reached around, unbuttoned and unzipped the boy’s fly, shoved the slacks downward, and pushed the elastic waistband of the boring, standard, white briefs down so that the band rested just beneath the boy’s balls. His own tighty-whities, of course, had never been boring, *snicker* not with his bodacious bubble butt elevating them to a coveted art form. He imitated Brian’s actions, mirroring his speed and motions, rutting against True Sin’s crack through the white briefs while rolling his nuts in one hand and dragging his other hand along the boy’s cock.

 

Truesen began grunting, so aroused that he was certain he’d come again any moment. He couldn’t do more than moan, though, so lost in his own pleasure that he didn’t even hear the older brunet’s acerbic remark.

 

“Did you get lost on the way home, Sunshine?” Brian mocked, turning his head slightly to look directly at the two young men, “I thought you’d have learned to navigate the queerest street in this burgh by now. Did you have to resort to Map Quest?” he snarked.

 

Justin let loose one of his maddeningly arousing giggles, “You’re just craving my ass, Big Guy. You sooooo need me. It’s a sad state of affairs when you can’t even wait fifteen minutes for me to get home.” The blond batted his eyelashes, the laughter dancing in his eyes making Brian’s dick even more rock hard, something that shouldn’t have been possible.

 

“Fifteen minutes, Twat?” the brunet stud growled. “Have you forgotten how to tell time?” Brian gestured with the back of his head toward the clock on the kitchen wall. “I figured I’d fend for myself when hours had passed since I last saw you.” He smugly added, “It’s not as though I’ll have any difficulty bouncing back for our second, third, and fourth rounds.”

 

Justin was a trifle shocked that it had taken him and the Sinner a full hour to wend their way home, but he simply shrugged off the brunet’s gross exaggeration of their untimeliness and giggled some more, which triggered both Brian and True Sin’s dicks into eruptions of volcanic proportions. Brian’s streamers of come decorated his chest, neck, and chin, a few drops even landing on the couch next to his head. The Mormon’s creamy white missiles flew across the open space, one globule nearly reaching the countertop of the kitchen bar, another blob joining Brian’s own come on the stud’s chin, and yet more of that copious white lava decorating the coffee table and carpeting.

 

“Holy fuck!” Brian exclaimed in astonishment. “Who would have suspected that you’d possess such a missile launcher? You could set records, Mormie Boy!” It was almost enough to make the brunet stud forgive the Sinner for soiling Brian’s Diesel jeans with his spunk at Woody’s. He might even forgo having the Mormon Sperm Catapult pay his dry cleaning bill. It wasn’t as if he were going to do the laundry himself, the stud mused. He’d just have his blond drop off the jeans with the rest of their dry cleaning and cut the Jizz Rocket a break.

 

“You know, Bri, when we reopen Babylon, we should launch a contest to see who can shoot their load the furthest. The Sinner here might even make it into the Guinness Book of World Records,” Justin said, getting more and more excited as he envisioned a new event at his favorite club - forgetting in his zeal that the news about Babylon’s reincarnation hadn’t yet been been shared with more than a handful of people.

 

The ad exec almost rebuked the blond, but that WAS a good idea and, really, who the fuck was Sinful going to tell about Babylon? He didn’t even know what Babylon was, for Chrissake. Brian decided he’d put Ted to running cost projections, and that he’d task Simon in Kinnetik’s Art Department as well as Justin with mocking up some set designs for the competition. The synapses in his brain fired as he considered the most effective way to market the contest in conjunction with the grand reopening of his club. With a shrug, Brian then put Babylon and the Guinness Book on a mental back burner, preferring to observe his blond and their play toy for the nonce.

 

Justin removed his right hand, which had been encircling True’s prick and raised it toward his mouth to lap up the residual cream. Brian, too, decided a snack was in order and dipped his index finger into the combined splatter on his chin. “Not bad,” both men opined simultaneously, deeming the Sinner’s come worthy of consumption.

 

Truesen was yet again immobilized, watching in horror-struck fascination as Brian lapped up some more of his own come, acting as if it were the tastiest of treats. Men did THAT? The Mormon unfroze and attempted to recoil when the blond offered him a taste of his own emulsion, holding his fingers up to the sable-haired young man’s mouth. Truesen wasn’t successful in evading those fingers, though, since Justin was standing directly behind him. He involuntarily stuck his tongue out as the slender digits brushed against his lips.

 

He relaxed a bit when all he tasted was a mishmash of something salty, sour, and fishy. “Y . . . you think this is a delicacy?” he choked out, confused that the two men looked like they were lapping up the ambrosia of the gods as they imbibed that whitish gunk.

 

“Forget afternoon tea, boyo. Jism is better than any clotted cream you’ll ever taste, my nut butter in particular,” Brian boasted.

 

Justin let loose with yet another of his arousing giggles. “My hot vanilla rivals the Big Guy’s, True Sin. If you’re lucky, you’ll get a chance to taste both of us before the night is over.”  

 

Still standing behind their trick, he soothingly ran his hands up and down the new sinner’s bare arms. “C’mon, True,” he huskily rasped out as he nudged the Mormon onward, “we’re overdressed for this party.”

 

The about-to-be-ex Mormon didn’t reply, his attention riveted on Brian, who had resumed stroking his dick, which was already stirring. Justin chuckled wryly since he could certainly comprehend that fixation. If he hadn’t been confident in Brian as his partner, he might have been a bit irritated or perhaps even a little jealous, but he knew he had nothing to worry about. They played well with others, but they were committed to each other. The two studs actually talked and resolved problems these days, although Brian would probably rather slit his wrists than admit that to anyone.

  


When True gingerly moved forward a couple steps, Justin was finally able to turn around to slide shut and lock the door to the loft. Then, he used True Sin’s necktie to tow his companion toward the coffee table, where he paused to pour healthy measures of Beam into all three shot glasses. After giving one shot to Brian and taking another for himself, he handed the last glass to his fledgling fag. “Here, True. Bottoms up!” *hehehehe* Another cascade of giggles followed that pronouncement as Justin happily envisioned the final stage of his Sinner’s initiation.

 

When the amateur fag shrank away from the proffered glass, Justin declared, “If it’s not a sin to be queer, it’s sure as fuck not a sin to drink whiskey, True Sin. So swallow it down like a man!”

 

Truesen stretched out a wildly trembling hand and took the glass from Justin. When his tutor in the gay arts knocked back his glass in one go, the Mormon imitated him and did the same, spluttering and coughing as he swallowed, but still managing to keep most of the liquid down.

 

“Good,” praised the blond, “you can have another shot later if you need it. Don’t want to knock you out, though, not when the ‘take my virginity party’ is just beginning.

 

Truesen burped loudly, seemingly in response to the comment about losing his virginity, before blanching at his social faux pas. He tried to cover his mouth, but he missed his lips, entangling his fingers in his hair as he let rip with another mighty belch.

 

“Whoa, Boy!” Brian chuckled at the Mormon’s predicament. “I think you’d better limit him to midget-sized servings for a while, Sunshine, at least until he builds his tolerance. He’ll wanna get that belching under control before the jism distance challenge. Even with his prodigious projectile talents, he isn’t going to endear himself to his fellow faggots if he can’t stop eructing.”

 

While Brian was speaking, Truesen burped again, lurched to the side, hiccuped, and ended up bracing himself against Justin, who tilted the Sinner’s chin toward himself so that he could look into the boy’s dilated pupils. Well, it looked like the man was relaxed at last, maybe too much. Who would have thought one shot of Beam, generous serving aside, could do that to anyone within such a short time span? It was definitely time to move on to the next stage of relieving the man of his virginity, hopefully without the event turning into a total farce.

 

“Boy,” the blond demanded, “strip off the rest of your clothes.”

 

“Wha I’m sposted do?” Truesen slurred, flailing about with his arms.

 

“Tell you what, True, let’s put on a show for the Big Guy. We’ll help each other strip,” Justin joshed, “making Brian all hot and bothered and ready to be the creamy stud filling in our twink sandwich.”

 

The blond ignored the scoffing sounds from the brunet. He was just trying to ease any lingering fears, so that they could finally get on with the Sinner’s initiation. He hadn’t gotten around to explaining that Brian was the Toppy-est Stud in Pittsburgh - except when he bottomed for Justin - a factoid which Mormie Boy would not be made privy to. The thought of Bottom!Brian caused the blond boy to dissolve into another freshet of happy giggles and, predictably, drove the two dark-haired men nearly mad with lust.

 

“Mmm, Jushin, susha pwetty penish,” Truesen mumbled.

 

The giggling blond devil laughed harder at that since the man hadn’t seen his cock yet. He wielded one of the two finest wang doodles in the city, but True Sin could hardly judge that yet, even if he were sober enough to do so. Justin repositioned the boy so that they were facing each other on the opposite side of the coffee table from Brian, presenting a side view to their audience. Justin then reached out, grabbed the nervous Mormie’s clammy hands, and placed them on his fly. “That’s it,” he coaxed, “undo the button and unzip my fly. Careful, now, I went commando under my cargo pants.”

 

Truesen really didn’t get what ‘commando’ meant in relation to unzipping the blond’s pants, but - even in his inebriated state - he took heed of the young man’s tone and proceeded slowly. It wasn’t as if he could do anything else with his hands jittering so badly that he could barely slip the button through the buttonhole and then inch the metallic row of teeth downward, millimeter by millimeter.

 

Once the timid, tipsy boy had finally succeeded in lowering his zipper, Justin clasped the Mormie’s hands with his, raised them to the waistband of his cargos, and assisted True Sin in pushing them down his thighs, until they dropped down to his ankles. Justin quickly toed off his sneakers before shucking his pants completely.

 

“Easy, Boy,” Justin soothed his skittish striptease counterpart as he unnotched True Sin’s belt and slipped it free of the buckle. Accurately estimating that the longer he took, the more sober and apprehensive the sable-haired man would become, Justin rapidly divested him of his pants, shoes, and socks.

 

Truesen’s arms had been crossed over his chest, clutching his sides in white-knuckled fists but, the moment his ‘private parts’ - as he primly referred to them in his mind - were exposed, he immediately lowered his hands to cover his groin.

 

Brian guffawed, “Fuck, Mormie Boy. You’ve got nothin’ Justin and I haven’t seen before. Take your hands away from your dick. Now!” the annoyed stud commanded gruffly. As far as Brian was concerned, this was taking far too long. He definitely didn’t remember matters proceeding so slowly with a certain once-upon-a-time blond virgin.

 

In response to Brian’s snark, Justin placed his palms on the sides of the rather inebriated but still distressed man’s face and sternly said, “Focus on me and ignore the Big Guy. He’s just being cranky - always gets that way when I haven’t provided his daily quota of blow jobs, rim jobs, and general fuckery.” The blond heaved a mighty sigh when True Sin seemed to ignore him instead of Brian. “Look, Sinful, I know what it’s like to see the Face of God. Been there, done that, again and again. But, tell me, would you rather have the Almighty Kinney teach you all about gay sex or would you, perhaps, prefer the Archangel Taylor?”

 

The blasphemy toward his deity made Truesen goggle at his angelic savior and sober up quickly. He’d heard every word the babbling blond had uttered. He wanted to protest that he hadn’t so much been venerating God Kinney; it was more that he’d been half woozy from the whiskey and half petrified by the man’s arrogant demeanor, but he couldn’t form the words to tell Justin that. Didn’t the blond know he was just as gorgeous and desirable as his brunet friend? the Mormon speculated. Were the . . . the other gays in this burgh so shortsighted that they only went after Kinney? Or was it just that they always worshipped the deity first? Obviously the Face of God, in spite of all his snarking and snarling, valued his archangel or he wouldn’t be with him. The connection between the two men was electric; their glances, their touches, and their words almost set the air aflame. It was more than sexual foreplay, although Truesen hadn’t yet figured out just what that something more was.

 

The ebon-haired, born-again gay really hoped to get to know the angel better, even if he had to brave God’s wrath to do so. “Hosanna!” Truesen shouted, almost sagging in relief that he was able to think of himself as ‘gay’. “Hosanna!” he proclaimed again, beginning to revel in his freedom. Squaring his shoulders, he decided he would both KNOW and ACCEPT himself. In fact, he was adopting ‘know thyself’ as his new mantra. And, even if he were still in the dark about what was going to happen, he was ready for his angel to ‘know’ him in the biblical sense.

  


Truesen bravely held the blond’s gaze and stuttered, “Y . . . you. I choose you, Justin.” He may have been overwhelmed on Liberty Avenue and at Woody’s but, observing the behavior of his fellow fags, Truesen had garnered enough information to know that the blond stud had been remarkably patient with him. Bashfully, unable to look the blond in the eyes, he murmured, “I want the angel, not the god.” He enunciated as carefully as he could, wanting it to be clear that he was making a rational decision to have sex with the blond - well, probably with both men, but he wasn’t ready to think about that quite yet.

 

Truesen had intuited from their actions that neither man would force him to have sex with them, so it was more than a matter of simply choosing between Justin and Brian. He’d accepted that he desired the young man and, regardless, he’d rather learn from the beautiful angel, who was without question more personable and approachable than the brunet god. Truesen told himself to ask the bodacious blond later on what relationship he had with Brian. They obviously engaged frequently in sexual relations, but that didn’t help the Mormon figure out what nomenclature to use in describing them. Before today, all he’d known about gay men was that that they couldn’t be saved unless they repented and forsook their sinful ways, and that one man couldn’t legally marry another. Surely he couldn’t go wrong by calling the two heavenly beings friends?

 

The baffled, overwhelmed, still slightly tipsy virgin was rescued from his chaotic contemplations when the new archangel in his pantheon beamed a smile that outshone the sun, flung out his arms, and cried, “Hallelujah! Hosanna! You have seen the light! Welcome to the loft of true sin!”

 

Justin wrapped one hand around Sinful’s dick and towed him toward the sofa. When they reached that plush piece of furniture, the blond released his captive cock, turned the boy around, and pushed so that True Sin sank down into the cushions next to Brian.

 

“You can think of us as your queer game show hosts,” Justin cheekily advised. You’re the new and improved, gay version of Ken Jennings.” The bodacious blond reached out and stroked both men’s moisture missiles in tandem while he explained to the rookie how he was going to proceed. “For your next lesson, I’ll demonstrate one way you can tithe your in-‘come’ to the Church of Brian and Justin. Watch closely, I will quiz you on it later. Far better to worship and spend some of your earnings on us, instead of on a church which doesn’t accept you for who you are.”

 

The blond grabbed one of the large, plush throw pillows from the end of the sofa, placed it on the ground between Brian’s feet, and then knelt down in front of him. Brian obligingly slid downward so that his ass rested against the edge of the divan. When Justin pushed the brunet’s legs apart, the fine auburn hairs on Brian’s left leg grazed against the sable hairs on True Sin’s right leg, causing the overstimulated and confounded young man to levitate at least six inches into the air.

 

“Well, you don’t juggle or do handstands, boyo, but you certainly do other tricks,” Brian drawled.

 

When Brian smiled at his blond boy, clearly remembering their first night together, Justin couldn’t keep a delighted giggle from escaping. The brunet grinned more broadly at having elicited the desired reaction. That teeheehee of Justin’s was just so damned irresistible, and Brian had determined that he would never go another day without hearing it.

 

“Pay attention, True,” Justin commanded as his eyes glazed over and he licked his lips, “and you’ll get an introduction to the fine art of cocksucking. The most important thing is to cover your teeth. Word’ll get around if you chow down on a guy’s cock and balls.”

 

Noticing the frown furrowing his protégé’s forehead, Justin soothed, “Don’t worry. If you take to swallowing dick like you did to launching projectiles, you’ll see plenty of action.”

 

Brian interjected, “Stop frowning, Sinner, or your wrinkles will spread. All that worrying about being a good little Mormon has probably already caused irreversible damage. And I sure as shit am not sharing my anti-aging cream with yet another twink.”

 

Justin shook his head at his lover’s theatrics. Of course he used the bloody cream. With Brian carping every morning about an imaginary wrinkle, gray hair, or - god forbid - a zit, which, conversely, he could have welcomed as a sign of youth - and then scrutinizing Justin’s face for blemishes, what choice did he have? Unable to wait any longer, he leaned forward and buried his nose in Brian’s balls. He inhaled deeply, humming in bliss as he breathed in his favorite musky, tangy scent. “Sooo good, Bri,” he murmured as he swirled his tongue over and around the brunet’s nutsac.

 

“Fuck, yessss,” hissed the brunet when Justin sucked his scrotum into his mouth, hummed, and swallowed. The blond wrapped one hand around the base of Brian’s dick and began to stroke upward along the shaft while massaging Brian’s perineum with two fingers of his other hand and tugging gently on his ball sac with his mouth.

 

“Holy fuck!” Brian shouted. “Are you *pant* trying to make me *pant* erupt like *pant* Mount Vesuvius?” The famous lothario of Liberty Ave tried to rein in his impulse to shoot his load then and there. Goddammit! He was not a horny teenager, and he would not embarrass himself in front of the new recruit. But he needed his blond boy to cooperate if he were to regain a modicum of control. Blissed out almost beyond endurance, the brunet begged, “Ease up, Twat, I promise you’ll get your serving of creamy, high-protein lava.” Brian refused to say ‘award’, their code for word for ‘slow’, derived from rhyming slang,* which would indicate he was about to blow any second. When they were around tricks, one of the two studs talking about giving an ‘award’ to the other for outstanding sexual performance wasn’t all that unusual. After all, as everyone knew, they were the two best fuckers in the burgh.

 

If the blond brat didn’t slow down, though, Brian was going to start screaming about ‘awards’ at any moment . . . Thankfully, Justin took pity on his man, released Brian’s balls with an audible pop, and then laved a broad stripe along the underside of his cock, his tongue following the path made by the palm of his hand. Humming as he reached the corona, he stabbed with his tongue at the frenulum and then swiped the tip of his tongue along the underside of the crown. Simultaneously, he brushed the pad of his thumb along the piss slit and massaged the perineum some more.

 

“Ahhhhhhh! Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Ahhhhhhh! Was I *pant* not clear? *pant* I’m not ready to come yet!” The gush of precome that oozed out of Brian’s slit belied his statement, but he could hardly admit the truth - that he didn’t want to come yet, that he wasn’t in control - in front of True Sin.

 

The smug satisfaction radiating from his partner’s deep blue eyes as he licked every drop of precome off of his thumb didn’t help matters. Brian was sure he was going to blow any second. Justin, who had once been his pupil, had long since equaled, if not excelled, Brian’s oral skills.

 

Justin rolled the sides of his tongue inward to form a tube and stabbed at Brian’s slit a couple more times before removing his tongue, and his fingers from Brian’s perineum, only loosely holding Brian’s cock in his other hand. The stud frowned in consternation. Was that really what he’d wanted? Since when did the bold blond listen to him anyhow? Brian was going to have to rethink that ‘ask and ye shall receive’ adage.

 

The blond fellatio artist grinned widely at True Sin, who was clutching his thighs in his hands as his virulently purplish-red dick strained toward the ceiling, the vein on the underside pulsating violently. Justin snickered at his lover, “I don’t think our Sinner is faring any better than you, Big Guy, and I haven’t even touched him yet. Tsk. Tsk. I thought you’d provide an example of how to control oneself,” the blond brat insincerely insinuated, “but I guess that was too much to hope for.”

 

Brian reached forward as if he were going to grab Justin’s face and shove his dick down the blond’s throat but collapsed back into the couch cushions instead. Nope, couldn’t let the bratty blond win. What was it he needed to do? Come? His dick twitched in concordance with that idea but, no, that wasn’t the plan. Oh, right. Control. He was in control of the situation. He could hear the blond’s laughter even though the boy didn’t make a sound. The overstimulated stud sank his teeth into his bottom lip, staving off his imminent orgasm and limiting himself to another copious surge of precome.

 

With teasing laughter dancing in his eyes, Justin lazily stroked his hand slowly up and then back down Brian’s cock. Up . . . and . . . down.

 

Fuck! thought the stud, straining not to push his dick upward into the blond’s hand.

 

“Huh, huh, huh,” True Sin panted, eyes riveted on the tip of Brian’s cock as it emerged out of the top of Justin’s fist and then disappeared, again and again.

 

Fuck! What a high! Justin wouldn’t mind doing this all night long. He had both men in the palm of his hand. Smiling salaciously, he leaned forward and licked around the head of Brian’s cock. He continued the leisurely pumping action with his hand, swiping his thumb across Brian’s slit while laving the rest of the corona with his tongue. In his other hand, he cupped Brian’s balls, rolling them around with his fingers, gently tugging on them to arouse Brian further. Lick. Swipe. Pump. Tug.

 

“Mrfffmphhhh!” garbled the stud, finally giving in and begging, “Now, for fuck’s sake! Please!”

 

“Your wish is my command, Stud,” Justin averred. In one smooth downward motion, the blond deepthroated all nine-and-a-half inches of manmeat, burrowing his nose into Brain’s pubes. He hummed and swallowed, fondling Brian’s nuts with one hand, before pulling back until only the tip of Brian’s dick was in his mouth. As his mouth descended anew onto Brian’s cock, he reached out with the hand that was no longer fisting Brian’s dick and ran the tip of his index finger around the edge of Brian’s pucker.

 

That was it. The brunet couldn’t hold out any longer. He grabbed fistfuls of flaxen hair and thrust upward into that warm-slick-tight passage, screaming, “Fuuuuuuuck!” as he released rivers of come into that welcoming throat, then sagged back into the cushions.

 

Justin released Brian’s now semi-erect cock, bestowed a soft kiss on the tip, and then halfway stood up in an effort to press his lips to his partner’s. Brian assisted in that endeavor, clasping one of the boy’s plumps ass cheeks in each hand and pulling upward until the blond was straddling his lap. There was no tantalizingly tangy treat to share since the protein drink had shot straight down Justin’s gullet and into his stomach, but that didn’t matter to either Brian or Justin. The two men locked lips constantly, aroused or not, sometimes for no discernible reason whatsoever. Touching, particularly kissing, was their way of reassuring one another that they were together, that neither one of them was leaving for another city, another man, or another job.

 

Brian caressed Justin’s face, smiling fondly at the blond when they surfaced from the kiss to gulp in some much-needed air. A low, susurrating noise as their Sinner collapsed back into the cushions reminded both men of his presence.

 

Justin’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as he took in the boy’s sated condition. True Sin had apparently come untouched, decorating his chest, neck, and chin with another sizable load of come. How the heck was he producing so much so quickly? the two studs wondered in amazement.

 

“Ouch!” exclaimed the blond, looking at the ten, dark, crescent-shaped bruises on the Sinner’s thighs.

 

Brian chortled, “You’re definitely a fag, Boy. You’re going to be sporting quite the rainbow of colors tomorrow. You should have told us that you’re into pain,” he joshed, “we could have directed you toward ‘Boy Toy’ and ‘Meathook’ instead of inviting you to our loft.” The brunet assumed a contemplative mien, resting his chin in his right hand and running his thumb across his lips, “Weren’t you looking for the bears in those clubs when I picked you up outside Babylon, Blondie?”

 

When True Sin opened his mouth, Justin anticipated that he was about to hear a flurry of questions about boy toys, meathooks, and bears, so he forestalled the Sinner by leaning over and licking his way from the boy’s stomach up to his chin. Sin’s cock apparently took that as a signal to return to life, twitching and then gradually expanding until it once again jutted out from his groin.

 

“Hmm, does that mean you’d like to receive your first blowjob?” Justin kidded, resting his chin on the novice fag’s chest and admiring the one-eyed serpent peering back at him. “Not bad, Boy,” he approved, “looks like you possess more than seven inches.”

 

Brian snorted, “Thought it was nine-and-a-half inches keeping that sunshiny smile on your face.”

 

The blond admonished his lover with a frown, “Most of us haven’t been blessed with as many inches as you, Stud.”

 

“Sinner, you might as well know that we fags are size queens - top, bottom, or versatile - we all want a big cock to play with,” Brian explained. “Look at Sunshine. His dick may be an inch shy of mine in length, but he compensates in circumference, and that bulbous head makes every prostate jump for joy.” The brunet wanted to smack himself in the face the moment those telltale words escaped his lips.

 

“That’s what I’ve observed, anyhow,” he hastily amended, studiously ignoring the smirking, giggling blond. With his cock sitting up and taking notice, he couldn’t ignore his Sunshine for long, however. That damned giggle! It ought to be illegal!

  


Justin lifted his head from the Sinner’s torso, sat back up, and then leaned forward to nibble on the exact spot beneath Brian’s earlobe that always drove the brunet insane with lust, whisper-giggling into his ear, “Not to worry, Stud. You should have told me earlier about that ‘itch’ returning so soon. I’ll take care of it once we’re alone again . . .”

 

Fuck, yeah! If that itch hadn’t been there before - less than twenty-four hours after it had last been scratched - it certainly was pricking him now. Brian quickly glanced at the Sinner who, fortunately, wasn’t paying any attention. True had slid down so that his ass was resting on the edge of the couch and was eying his gearshift in fascination.

 

“Looks like your next customer is waiting to be serviced,” Brian tapped his blond on the shoulder and nodded toward the Sinner, who was clad only in the rather wrinkled necktie that dangled down toward his straining drumstick.

 

That earned another earsplitting grin from Justin, who stood up and snatched the throw pillow from the floor, repositioning it in front of True Sin. “Relax, True. You sound like you just sprinted a mile to make it to church on time,” Justin told the short-winded Sinful, who was huffing and puffing before Justin had so much as touched him. Trying to ease Sin’s nerves, Justin stroked slowly downward with his hands from True’s hips to his knees, nudging apart the boy’s legs before genuflecting to perform his favorite act of worship.

 

Justin kept up his gentle massaging of the Sinner’s thigh with one hand while he encircled the boy’s eager beaver with the other. “Before you exploded, did you pay attention to what I did with the Big Guy?” Justin asked.

 

Mesmerized by the up-and-down motion of the blond’s hand along his cock, the lad didn’t even register the question.

 

“Sin!” Justin flicked his thumbnail against the indentation at the base of his cockhead, causing the Sinner to hiss in pain-pleasure. “Did. You. Pay. Attention. When. I. Blew. Brian?” the blond reiterated slowly.

 

“Uh . . . I . . . your mouth . . . uh . . . maybe?” Truesen beseeched, his thoughts rendered completely incoherent by the movement of Justin’s hand on his dick.

 

Justin snickered, “This is an essential skill you must master to pass Carnal Arts 101, oh disciple of mine.

 

“B . . . b . . . but,” True Sin mustered his scattered wits enough to spit out, “I c . . . can’t concentrate when you’re doing THAT.”

 

“You mean this?” Justin inquired mischievously, leaning forward and lapping at Sinful’s cockhead with his tongue.

 

Truesen’s eyes rolled back in his head and he nearly blacked out as his synapses fired off messages of overpowering pleasure toward his brain. “Gaaah!” was the only sound he managed - what could’ve been years later - when his vocal cords resumed partial operation. The two studs were going to think he was a Mormon moron, but Truesen didn’t care, not as long as the blond kept doing THAT.

 

To True Sin’s everlasting delight, Justin engulfed his cockhead in his mouth, swallowing around the sensitive tissue. Truesen grunted appreciatively but, alas, the blond released his luscious lollipop milliseconds later - or so it seemed to the woebegone neophyte. “Why’d ya schtop?” he slurred, feeling far more tipsy than he had after knocking back the tumbler of Beam.

 

The brunet seated next to the Sinner let out a hefty sigh. He damned well knew why the blond imp had stopped but, just like the ebon-maned boy, he wanted to implore Justin to continue. Fuck! What had happened to him? Sunshine, that’s what. Even though he’d come no more than ten minutes ago, he was as horny as a fourteen-year-old, on the edge of erupting again.

 

His protesting wheeze caused the blond imp to glance at Brian, one eyebrow tauntingly cocked, before he turned back to the Sinner. “True, you can’t be a real fag if you don’t learn to suck dick. It’s like I told the therapist my mom dragged me to see so I’d be cured - Justin made air quotes as he spat out the word ‘cured’ - of being gay. ‘I like dick. I wanna get fucked by dick. I wanna suck dick. I like sucking dick.’ True Sin, you gotta give in order to receive.”

 

Brian privately thought Justin’s body had absorbed every move he’d made when he’d given the boy his first blow job. He’d become a pro so fast, it had made both of Brian’s ‘heads’ spin. As Justin had noted earlier to Sinful, the brunet did indeed become cranky if he didn’t get his daily dose of Sunshine blowjobs - at least one, preferably two or three.

 

“Okay, I wanna learn,” Truesen acknowledged. “But, please, could ya teach me later an’ jush blow me now?”

 

Since that accorded with what Justin really wanted to do in that moment, he beamed a saucy grin at the Sinner and immediately deepthroated his pupil. This time, Truesen’s eyes almost popped out of his head. It was the most heavenly sensation he could have imagined. When Justin hummed around his cock, he swore he heard an angelic chorus singing.

 

No, no, no! Truesen’s brain complained when the blond pulled back, releasing his dick with a loud popping noise.

 

Justin, who’d caught the barest whiff of True Sin’s piquant pubic scent, wanted to inhale without the constriction of a cock in his throat. As an apology for halting the deepthroating so soon after introducing the boy to its heavenly delights, he licked and gently nipped his way down the Sinner’s cock to his savory onyx pubes, inhaling deeply when he finally arrived at his destination. Mmmhmmm. His suspicion was proven correct; this was the most tantalizingly tangy bush he’d encountered - other than Brian’s, of course. Could use a trimming, though. Maybe he should ask Auntie Em to provide grooming advice?

 

Since he was a champion at handjobs as well as blowjobs, Justin hadn’t neglected the Sinner’s cock while engaging in his olfactory ecstasies. His hand continued to travel up and down the boy’s dick, eliciting ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ of delight.

 

Justin’s nose trailed downward, inhaling even more deeply when he reached the Sinner’s balls. Fuck! “You smell so good,” he praised.

 

‘What the fuck!’ groused the brunet to himself. HIS boy was only supposed to say THAT to him. Anyone else was just a trick, a throwaway. No upstart virgin had the right to usurp Brian’s place in Justin’s estimation. What the fuck could he do, though? He couldn’t let the blond know that he was *gasp* jealous - especially not in front of the virginal twerp. Brian wasn’t sure why these unaccustomed - yeah, riiight - pangs of envy were making him harder than ever, but he’d figure that out later. First he had to get off, then the Sinner had to be thoroughly fucked until he was no longer so temptingly virginal, and finally he’d have to talk with his blond stud. That goddamned relationship *shudder* crap! Necessary, though, since he was determined to keep his blond boy around. No more pushing off cliffs and no more running away. Justin belonged to him, as Brian would make VERY clear.

 

While Brian was lost in his relationship reverie, Justin was transporting the Mormon to fairyland. When the blond ray of sunshine laved the boy’s nuts with his tongue and then took them into his mouth, Truesen was sure he’d died and gone to paradise. How could the Promised Land possibly be better than this? He shortly discovered that it could get even more heavenly.

 

Justin inserted two fingers into his mouth and sucked on them along with Truesen’s balls. Once they were thoroughly spit-slicked, he removed them from his mouth and let them trail netherward over the Sinner’s perineum - pausing to massage lightly - until he reached the lad’s tightly-furled pucker. Round and round those fingertips circled before Justin pressed his index finger inward, breaching that virginal asshole by, perhaps, a micrometer or two.

 

Paradise lost a bit of its luster for True Sin when Justin loosed his balls from his mouth. But he was quickly returned to the raptures of Zion as the blond inhaled his dick in one go, humming and swallowing, fondling his balls with one hand, and caressing his hole with the other. Sinful gasped for air, his back arching off the sofa and his legs rising until they were tightly cinched around Justin’s back.

 

The frantically writhing Sinner was no longer aware of his surroundings or even, really, what was happening to him. He just wanted MORE. His questing hands found a blond mop of hair, and he latched onto it, tugging firmly.

 

Blast off! Truesen’s load rocketed down Justin’s throat while warm streamers of come splattered the blond’s face from the side.

 

As he had watched Justin concentrate on giving True Sin his first blowie - and set the suck standard for all future blow jobs - Brian had worked himself into an increasingly possessive snit. He pouted - yes, the stud was a masterful pouter - feeling more than a tad neglected. He’d show that blasted blond boy! He would come all over Justin’s face and remind the blond that he already had a partner, one that the moronic Mormon couldn’t possibly compete with. The brunet furiously stroked his hand up and down his pleasure stick, closely observing the annoying Sinner so that he could time his effusion to the boy’s orgasm. A self-righteous smile adorned the brunet’s face. He’d win this contest! Virginal come or not, the boy couldn’t possibly compete with the Great God Kinney’s high-quality ball juice. ‘Now, now, now!’ the neurons fired their imperative message to his brain.  

 

Justin cradled the Sinner’s spunk viper in his mouth until it had receded to its flaccid four inches. He then sat back on his heels and ostentatiously licked all around his lips before reaching out with his fingers to capture more of the creamy treat Brian had just bestowed on him. His eyes alight with laughter, the blond hummed, “Mmmm, mmmm, good,” as he sucked his man’s come off of his fingers. Possessive bastard! *snort* Didn’t do jealous? *snort* Of course, Justin not-so-secretly loved that behavior, so he couldn’t even feign anger toward the unrepentant stud.

 

Brian couldn’t believe it when his cock twitched again in response to Justin’s actions. It was true that he had recuperative superpowers, but this was ridiculous. He’d just come for the third time in less than an hour, for Chrissake!

 

The brunet stud rolled his head to the left to look at True Sin, who appeared to still be riding a euphoric high. His limbs were relaxed and he had a blissed-out smile on his face as he gazed in wonderment at his savior. “You ARE an angel, Justin. MY archangel.”

 

Well, fuck. Did the pretty, rosy-red blush staining Justin’s cheeks at that honest flattery mean it would be more difficult than Brian had anticipated to wean the two boys off each other? That the stud’s supreme spooge hadn’t done the trick?

 

Un-fucking-believable! Until that moment, he’d thought only the Mormon was infatuated. Fucking virgins! So much trouble! Although in HIS blond’s case, not more trouble than he was worth, at least not any longer. Dammit, he was gonna have to act gracious or risk pissing off the blond.

 

“Did you enjoy your blowjob from the best cocksucker on the eastern seaboard, Mormie?” the stud half sneered. “Cuz you’ll never get another one to match.” At least Brian hoped the greenhorn gay wouldn’t merit a repeat. The boy’s crestfallen gaze told him his arrow had hit the target. He cursed to himself some more, however, when he remembered he wanted the missile launcher that was affixed to the boy for Babylon’s restoration gala. Double fuck!

 

“Only on the east coast, Stud?” Justin chided. “You found better in Ibiza?”

 

Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck! All he needed at this point was a blond in high dungeon withholding blowjobs.

 

Justin almost burst out laughing at the look of dismay on Brian’s face. He just knew the Big Guy was worrying about his daily fellatio ration. As if Justin would deny himself that taste treat! That wouldn’t stop him from tormenting the stud, though, especially since he was curious as to how Brian would try to placate him. What kind of ad campaign would he cook up in that fertile brain to finagle himself back into Justin’s good graces?

  


Pretending disgruntlement, Justin leaned back against the coffee table, gesturing toward his distended, purplish-red cock. “While you’ve been busy coming . . . and coming . . . and coming, no one has provided any relief for the best cocksucker in the history of cocksuckers,” the blond boasted.

 

Brian did a double-take at that. He was rather mortified to realize that Justin had exerted so much control, while he had exhibited none himself. He discounted the trainee fag since, after all, virgins were notorious for shooting their loads at the least pretext.

 

Damned if he’d show his admiration, though. Might give both boys the wrong idea, and - even if Truesen would never achieve such mastery - it would be a pinnacle to which he could aspire. “If you can’t take the time to wank off, that’s your problem, Boy,” Brian grunted dismissively.

 

“No problemo, Big Guy,” Justin replied, twisting around to grab the Beam. “I’ll just console myself with bourbon.”

 

“Better pour a glass for the Sinner, too,” Brian recommended, “he’s gonna need some liquid courage for the main event.”

  


Song for Chapter 3

The Anthem of John Barrowman: I Am What I Am

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KW-AxyBQ1kA ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KW-AxyBQ1kA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, and the entire story, is meant to entertain. I am by no means advocating unsafe sex. Please keep in mind that it is possible to contract HIV or other STDs by swallowing semen, so I recommend following safe sex practices.
> 
> If you didn’t watch ‘Jeopardy’ or hear about Ken Jennings in 2004, you can read a bit about him and other Jeopardy winners at http://www.therichest.com/rich-list/nation/10-biggest-jeopardy-wins-of-all-time/.
> 
> *Credit for the rhyming slang code goes to Brynn_Jones. Many thanks, Synergy Sister! In rhyming slang, one word is associated with another. In this instance, ‘award’ is their code word because ‘show’ in ‘award show’ rhymes with ‘slow’. But you only say the non-rhyming word so that the rest is a sort of puzzle that only those in the know will understand. 
> 
> My thanks to Jazzepoet for challenging the Kinnetik Dreams Facebook members to come up with the most important, infamous queer musical anthem of all time, https://www.facebook.com/groups/1175566335808107/permalink/1261458713885535/. A big shout-out to soirsagrey for posting John Barrowman’s anthem in response to the challenge, even if it wasn’t the song JP had in mind.
> 
> Come join in on the fun if you aren’t already a member of Kinnetik Dreams on Facebook! Just request to be added to the group, and someone will get back to you pronto. And be sure to check out the website, www.kinnetikdreams.com.


	4. Revelations, Part 3 (aka Initiations, Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We’ve reached the deflowering . . .

The Sinner, still in a semi-somnolent state after the miraculous blowjob he’d received, had been astounded by the studs’ rapid-fire, occasionally insulting repartee. He felt rather like a ping-pong ball as his head swiveled back and forth between the two so that he could observe their reactions to the latest witticism or barbed remark. When the snarky older man mentioned the need for liquid courage, he snapped awake, his stomach sinking down to his feet. Main event? *gulp* An event in which he was apparently going to play a starring role?

 

Jumping Jehoshaphat! he thought, almost jumping to his feet himself and running out the door when he remembered the blond’s earlier explanation about bottoming. Liquid courage suddenly sounded like an extremely good idea! He reached out and snagged the bourbon from Justin’s hands, uncapped it, and took a healthy draught directly from the bottle. He coughed some as it rushed down his gullet, but that didn’t deter him from swilling another swig.

 

Brian and Justin stared in astonished amusement at the former teetotaler. It was only when the raven-haired lad tipped the bottle toward his lips for the third time that Justin roused himself from his stunned stupor and snatched the bottle away from the fearful, fretting fag. “Whoa! Hang on there, True Sin! You don’t wanna make yourself sick! Brian’ll have a fuckin’ fit if you barf on his designer furniture. You’ll think the tribulations God put Jonah through with the whale were easy-peasy in comparison.”

  


Justin’s warning was both tongue-in-cheek and deadly serious. Never, ever stain the man’s designer furnishings! Vomit, no! Cigarette ash, no! Alcohol, no! Crumbs from carb-laden food, no! Crumbs from any other food, no! Come, abso-fucking-lutely not! Since it seemed likely that he’d end up having to pacify a testy stud, Justin figured he might as well join the still-virginal lad and tipped the bottle back to guzzle a couple inches of golden relaxant.

 

“Fuck, Blondie, leave some for me!” the brunet stud whined.

 

*sigh* And to think the Big Guy occasionally ridiculed him for sounding like Mikey. “Go get your own fucking bottle, Stud!” the blond retorted, clutching the bourbon to his chest and backpedaling away from Brian. “It’s not like there aren’t six more identical bottles of Jim Beam Black on the cart. That doesn’t even include the case in storage.”

  


The brunet pouted - yes, he could pout with the best of them! - but stropped off to the cart to, as the blond had suggested, ‘get his own fucking bottle.’ He kept a wary eye on the not-quite-virgin as he did so. That boy was taking to sin like a duck to water; he was already swilling alcohol like a true reprobate.

  


Brian propped himself up against the headboard on his side of the bed, a mountain of pillows bracing his back, shoulders, neck, and head and waited for the two boys to join him. True Sin was chasing Justin around the coffee table and the couch, piteously warbling that a real angel wouldn’t withhold that golden ambrosia from one of his apostles. The more the Sinner had imbibed, the more confused he’d gotten about the distinction between God and his angels. He’d also lost track of who was supposed to worship whom. No matter. Hilariously enough, he was spouting liturgy about God and his archangel going at it hot and heavy. Really, the brunet stud philosophized, taking another gulp from his bottle and a toke from the joint he’d just rolled, that celestial duo had nothing on him and his Sunshine.

 

He was curious to see how his blond sexpert would proceed with the trembling tyro. How closely would he follow the script from five years earlier? Said sunshiny sexpert suddenly bounced up the stairs and onto the bed, straddling his torso. “Aha! You did get a new supply from Anita.” Justin pouted adorably - Brian was forced to use that lezzie word since there was no other adequate expression in the English lexicon - before leaning forward and taking the lit end between his teeth to shotgun some weed. Damn, that was one smokin’ hot angel!

 

“Whatcha doin? Can I ‘ave shome?” Truesen swayed alarmingly and then fell on top of Brian, knocking Justin off his perch. The blond rescued the nearly empty bottle just before the liquor would have dribbled out onto the sheets.

 

“Really, Sunshine? You let him have more?” Brian snorted at the goofily grinning Sinner sprawled across his chest.

 

“Not exactly . . .” In an attempt at a diversion, the blond leaned over to kiss his stud.

 

“Not so fast, Blondie,” the brunet forestalled him. He didn’t want to keep those luscious lips at bay for long, but still wrested his mind back to the suspiciously-reduced contents of the bottle of Beam long enough to ask, “What happened?”

 

Justin grimaced contritely. “You’ve been meaning to replace the sofa, right . . . ?” he answered warily, hoping to forestall the anticipated studly temper tantrum. “There was a bit of a spill when the Sinner tackled me.”

 

“Ish all pwetty goldensh patternded now,” the Sinner helpfully contributed.

 

“You gonna bus dishes at the diner again to cover the cost of the replacement?” Brian badgered his blond.

 

“My bubble butt does earn good tips,” Justin reflected, “but you get kinda cranky when the customers get too handsy. I seem to remember you almost coming to fisticuffs with Brandon last week when he gave my tempting tush a squeeze. It’s not like I was actually working; I just stepped in to give Deb a hand cuz Kiki had called in sick.”

 

“Fucking Brandon!” Brian grumbled, “shoulda fucked him after I won the bet. Then he wouldn’t be such a brash bastard.”

 

Justin scoffed, “I know who you really wanted to fuck, Big Guy. And it sure as shit wasn’t Brandon.” He had no intention of telling Brian about his encounter with the dirty blond earlier that evening; it was his problem to handle, even if Brian had incited Brandon with that childish bet.

 

Brian, who’d been successfully sidetracked from all concerns about his sofa, shrugged and grinned wryly, “Guess I don’t mind having your bubble butt around.” He preferred not to think any further about that stupid wager and those dark days without any Sunshine.

 

“Such a ringing endorsement,” Justin joked, “but it’ll do. Wanna fuck to seal the deal?”

 

“Yesh, lesh fuck!” slurred their temporarily-forgotten guest. Although, how they could have forgotten him when he was lolling on top of Brian and drooling on his chest wasn’t clear to either of the studs. “You sh . . . said,” True Sin carefully enunciated, “that you’d make me inna real fag.”

 

Justin laughed fondly. This virgin really was a hoot. For some reason, he attracted fags fresh out of the closet. Or still in the closet if he took Hobbs into account. He refused, though, to ruin his carefully cultivated, happily horny mood with thoughts of that tosser and quickly shoved the memories of that pillock back into the recesses of his mind. Now, as far as untried fags . . . first, there’d been that frat boy who had imprinted on Justin when Justin had been fixated on Brian. Whether he’d been with Brian or not, that predilection had never really changed, so Eric hadn’t had a prayer. Justin winced, however, as he recalled how cruel he’d been to Eric. Well, it was over and done, couldn’t ameliorate his behavior now, just maybe be kinder with the Sinner.

 

Then there had been Josh, the one he’d never told Brian about, a neophyte he’d met after he had come to his senses and had realized deeds and not words were what mattered. He’d enjoyed a three-day romp with Josh after leaving the fiddler and before using his stalking talents at Vangard to win Brian back.

 

“Are you sure this is what you want, True? It’s not just the Beam talking? No weeping and wailing tomorrow morning?” Justin wanted to be sure that True was ready. He knew he could make it good for the Sinner, but he didn’t want to deal with moping and regrets the next day.

 

“No, Jushin, I really want this,” Truesen affirmed, gazing into his angel’s celestial blue orbs.

 

“You know this won’t make us a couple, right?” Justin asked suspiciously, a little unnerved by the naked adoration on True’s face.

 

“Righty-ho!” burbled Truesen, “but that dushn’t mean we can’t be friends, dush it? At least, I think itsa ‘kay to be friendsy with angels,” the Sinner ended uncertainly.

 

“Maybe. Let’s take care of that pesky virginity of yours first.” Justin patted the mattress, “How about you roll off Brian and over to this side of the bed?”

 

“I can dush that!” Truesen nodded eagerly. He had some difficulty with the rolling motion, however, and ended up doing a dog-paddle crawl over to the blond. The Sinner beamed up at his angel who was, for some reason, laughing hysterically by the time True reached him.

 

“Fucker! You kneed me in the nuts!” Brian complained, sending his blond into more gales of glee. “Just wait till he nails your nads, Sunshine,” the stud grumbled, “then you won’t think it’s so funny.”

 

“Come off it, Big Guy,” Justin rolled his eyes. “You’re hardly writhing in pain. At the most, the Sinner cracked your nuts a bit.” *hehehehe*

 

Brian glared at the blond, barely refraining from reaching down to check that his fake ball hadn’t, indeed, been cracked. The bubbly brat noticed his hand twitching, though, which made him cackle even harder.

  


“Okay, True, let’s make you comfortable,” Justin told his avid disciple. Justin tugged at the Sinner’s necktie - which had been thoroughly besmirched by come and Beam - before pulling it over Sin’s head and finally discarding it, and then urging him to crawl up the bed a bit further until his head was near the top of the mattress. He maneuvered True Sin so that he was braced on his forearms, exhorting, “C’mon, True, up onto your knees now. That’s right.” Justin hoped the boy’s wobbly knees would hold him up. In case his legs collapsed, Justin placed a couple of pillows underneath the Sinner’s hips in order to keep his ass raised into the air.

 

Once he had the Sinner in position, Justin leaned over until his torso almost completely covered the boy’s back. He nipped and sucked at True’s neck before gradually blazing a path down the lad’s spine with his tongue, goosebumps forming in his wake.

 

“Uh, huh, huh, ha!” the Sinner moaned a steady paen in accompaniment to the blond’s actions.

 

When Justin reached True’s nearly pancake-flat ass cheeks, he spared a fleeting thought that Christian charity would have him share of his own butt bounty with his fellow fag. Not medically feasible, though, not to mention that Brian would have a hissy fit. Giggling over his stud’s imagined horror, Justin parted True Sin’s cheeks, holding them open with his thumbs, and slowly swiped across the Sinner’s pucker with his tongue. Gently nipping at the mahogany folds, he watched the muscles pulsate in response.

 

A high-pitched keening noise whistled out of the sable-maned boy’s mouth. “M . . . more. Pleash.”

 

While True Sin shivered and shuddered in ecstasy, Justin laved his hole with saliva, pressing his thumbs against the edges of True’s pucker to hold it open a teeny bit. Such a miniscule opening! Justin moved his thumbs in short caressing motions over those spasming folds and stabbed inward with his tongue. He didn’t make much progress over the next ten minutes and drew his head back in frustration to assess that microscopic, virginal cock dock.

 

Fuck! The Sinner was even tighter than the frat boy! How was that possible? Maybe because he and Eric had only been eighteen at the time? True Sin’s tunnel had been constricting for at least five years longer. Ouch! Thank goodness his not-so-angelic savior was there to work a miracle and stretch that itty-bitty opening.

 

Fortunately, Justin was well versed in coping with itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, diminutive holes. Brian’s passage was still challenging, even though Justin had been servicing him regularly. Unlike the greenhorn Sinner, the stud had taken care of himself before the blond stalker had come along to scratch his itch. It wasn’t like he’d kept all those toys for his tricks, after all.

 

No question, though, that True Sin was the winner of the Lilliputian asshole contest! Taking a deep breath, the bold blond returned to his labors. He would breach that butthole!

 

While Justin had been ruminating about how to proceed, Truesen had been moaning incoherently and bucking backward, seeking more of that delicious, wet heat. He groaned in relief when he felt Justin’s tongue bathing his hole in more saliva. He wanted to rut his dick against the mattress but couldn’t reach it unless he belly-flopped onto the bed. Pushing into the soft, fluffy down pillows with his cockhead didn’t provide enough friction. Before he could resolve the conundrum or shift his weight to one arm and reach down with his hand to jerk himself off, the tip of the blond’s tongue penetrated his asshole. The lad froze in place, hands clutching fistfuls of duvet.

 

Justin hadn’t allowed True’s bucking to throw him off course. He’d kept his face firmly pressed between those cheeks and had finally succeeded in inserting the tip of his tongue a few millimeters, savoring the Sinner’s nutty flavor. Massaging True’s ass cheeks with his fingers, Justin pulled that knot apart fractionally with his thumbs, stabbed inward with his tongue, pulled out to swipe his tongue around the rim, and stabbed inward again.

 

Truesen’s body quaked and, with a mighty roar, he again came untouched, sending spurts of come flying across the duvet and onto Brian’s leg.

 

“You’ve just discovered what rimming is, True.” Justin helpfully added ‘rimming’ to the Sinner’s gay lingo as the boy collapsed onto the bed. “Showing works so much better than telling. You’ll never forget your first rim job.”

 

Brian had been steadily stroking himself while he watched Justin initiate the neophyte into another of the pleasures of being a fag. He was shocked by how arousing it was to be a voyeur while Justin rimmed the newbie queer. Hot damn! The pupil might have surpassed his teacher. It wouldn’t do to admit that out loud, of course. Brian wished he could be certain that the words would never cross his lips; however, he knew that he tended to blurt out revelations best kept to himself when the blond had kept him on edge for hours, till he was writhing and begging for release. Sometime soon, it might just be worth admitting to Justin that he had at least equalled if not outstripped Brian in the erotic arts - a surefire way to keep the little twat at Brian’s side, without any overly romantic protestations of love. But not right now. Right now, it was time to move on from rimming to more serious fucking.

  


While her fledgling fag was being tutored in the gay arts, Daphne settled down in front of her widescreen television with a bowl of popcorn and her J.T. dildo. She slid the porn video of her boys into the DVD player and imagined the goings-on at the loft . . .

  


Holy fuck! That was hot! She watched as the brunet stud slid into her bestie smoothly. Why couldn’t Matt - her on-again, off-again fuck buddy - do half as well with her?

  


Her Just Thrusty was so much more dependable than a man. Matt was such a dud anyway, refusing to let Daphne finger his prostate, much less let her test out the strap-on she’d recently purchased on him. He even squirmed away when she lightly massaged his perineum - when he was awake, that is; he liked it just fine when he was mostly asleep, pushing back and making breathy sounds of pleasure. The idiot seemed to think there was some unwritten rule that a straight man couldn’t obtain pleasure from his prostate, or at least that he couldn’t admit to doing so. God forbid, it might turn him gay! How could a student of psychiatry have such a ridiculous, narrow-minded attitude? If it weren’t for the convenience factor - they shared many of the same classes - she wouldn’t have bothered with a repeat fuck. But, given that she rarely had the time to go trolling for men during the day, her options for a decent daytime fuck were finite.

 

Daphne wished her best friend were at the apartment with her. Or even more so, that she were at the loft. She relished the rare occasions when Justin would take a break from fucking and join her to munch on popcorn while they critiqued the night’s performance. Brian would regally ignore them, unashamedly sprawled naked across the bed. Unless, of course, his performance was judged to be subpar. Then he’d stand in front of them and waggle his eyebrows and his nine-and-a-half inches simultaneously, demanding, “How can you go wrong with this?!”

 

Once they’d soothed the stud’s ego, he would join them in chowing down on the popcorn, although he’d always wait for Daphne’s reassurance, “It hasn’t been contaminated by pussy juice, Stud,” before digging in. That ‘Eww!’ expression of distaste on both men’s faces always sent her into hysterics. She would have teased them unmercifully if she hadn’t feared being banned from the loft.

 

Just one thing was needed to consummate her viewing pleasure and forevermore fuel her fantasies - Justin topping Brian. She knew it had happened - frequently, in fact - because she’d pestered her bestie relentlessly for six months until she’d finally finagled some of the details out of him. Justin had told her all about learning to top from Brian and, of course, Daphne had wanted to know whether he’d ever topped Brian, who was reputed to be the Toppy-est Top to ever top, never bottoming for anyone.

 

She’d seen Justin topping from the bottom, whether he was under Brian or riding Brin’s dick. That one always revved her up! Ride ‘em, Cowboy! So fucking fappable! But getting to actually see the real thing was Daphne’s biggest fantasy.

 

The young woman still needed more specifics from her bestie. It was all part of understanding the human psyche, right? Until she found a male who was willing to take a strap-on up the ass, she could hardly perform her own research. *sigh* Why couldn’t her boys introduce her to an interesting, adventuresome, well-hung, studly bisexual? In the meantime, she’d continue to bombard Justin with questions.

 

Her lengthy list included queries about kinks, toys, oral sex, and rimming, but she was especially fascinated by the power exchange inherent in sex. How did topping feel different from bottoming? Which did he prefer? Was he really more in control when he topped? Cuz, from what Daphne could tell, Justin was often the one orchestrating sex play with Brian, even when he was on the bottom in the standard missionary position. Ha! As if any position involving those two men could ever be considered standard. She could watch the same ‘standard’ DVD over and over and still melt into a puddle every single time.

 

The titian-haired beauty had even asked Brian one night if he liked it when Justin topped. He hadn’t protested when Justin had fingered him in front of their fag hag more than once - even though she’d never gotten as a clear a view of the action as she would have liked - so she couldn’t figure out why he’d never taken the blond’s dick up his ass when she was present. Might as well just pop the question. By that point, the trio had decimated three joints of grade-A weed, a bottle of Beam, and had consumed two extra-large pizzas. While watching ‘Dirty Dancing’ for the umpteenth time, they’d passed around another toke tube. Daphne, who thought ‘Baby’ was a damned silly name for a girl nevertheless admired the girl’s spunk. And Patrick Swayze was indubitably hot in the role of Johnny Castle.

  


In what she’d thought to be a suave lead-in to her inquiry, Daphne had griped, “I bet that, unlike that chickenshit Matt, Johnny would be opened-minded enough to let me peg him.” She’d then turned to the brunet stud and had asked, “What does it feel like when Justin fucks you?” ignoring Justin’s wild shushing motions and avidly awaiting the brunet’s response.

 

Brian hadn’t acted at all shocked by her question but, to Daphne’s ongoing frustration, he’d changed the subject without divulging his opinion of Justin’s topping skills. He hadn’t denied that the blond did top him, though, which the young woman took as verification that Brian was - at least sometimes - the bottom in their relationship. Daphne was sure they’d made recordings of Justin topping, but she had yet to ferret out where the video-graphic evidence had been stashed.

  


As Daph wielded her trusty Thrusty, half-watching the porny on-screen action between her boys - which just didn’t have the same visceral impact as a bedside viewpoint - and daydreamed about Justin topping Brian, the denouement of Truesen’s virginity was nearing its resolution back at the loft.

 

Truesen sat up and, loosely clasping his knees in front of him, rejoiced, “Rimming ish ‘eavenly, Jusjin. Whatta we do next?” the eager neophyte inquired, almost bouncing on the bed as his cock began to stir again.

 

“Holy fuck, True! We may need to model one of the ‘Rage’ characters after you.” Justin whistled admiringly. “Except for me and Brian, I’ve never known anyone to recover as quickly between rounds as you do. That’s a superpower all the fags in Gayopolis should possess.”

 

Justin sat back on his haunches, his mind spinning with ideas for the introduction of the ‘True Sinner’, Gayopolis’ newest superhero. If the hero had to wait until he was twenty-four to come into his powers, small wonder that he could blow load after load. All that backed-up come with no outlet? Justin pitied the poor bastard. What if, along with the other as yet undiscovered powers, he could grant short refractory periods to other deserving fags?

 

Truesen didn’t have a clue what Justin was babbling about, but he didn’t care right then. He’d ask about ‘Rage’ and ‘Gayopolis’ later. He DID care, however, about getting fucked. NOW.

 

Having recognized the warning signs of the artist’s twitching fingers and suspecting that he’d reach for a sketchpad any moment, Brian came to the rescue. He snapped his fingers, “Sunshine. Hey, Twat!” When the boy continued to stare off into the distance, Brian leaned forward and gave him a resounding smack on one ass cheek.

 

Justin jumped and rubbed a hand over the rosy pink palm print decorating the porcelain skin of his right cheek. “What was that for?” he asked, glaring at the stud. He started to scramble off the bed, “Never mind, I need to call Michael about this great idea.”

 

“Whoa, Little Twat. You wouldn’t wanna interrupt a perfectly good rim job, would you?” the brunet stud asked cheekily.

 

“How can you possibly know Michael’s getting rimmed?” the perplexed blond inquired.

 

“Cuz that’s the activity that gets interrupted when the two of you trade ideas over the phone at three in the morning.” How could his boy not remember passing out mid rim job? Brian still hadn’t completely forgiven Justin for that. No one should ever fall asleep during a rimming, especially one performed by Brian Fucking Kinney.

 

Brian gestured toward the blond’s straining, deep purple cock, which was currently pointing toward the ceiling, “Don’t you want to take care of THAT by inserting it into THIS?” He quirked an eyebrow and swept a hand toward the virginal Sinner’s ass.

 

Would this be anything like that delightfully delirious rimming? the neophyte wondered, his cock already displaying its amazing recuperative powers, lengthening and becoming engorged.

 

“Uh,” Justin’s chest flushed a bright pink, which crept up his torso and his face, turning both tomato red by the time it reached his hairline. “Uh,” he eloquently reiterated. Really, what could he say? It was beyond embarrassing to have forgotten about Sinful.

 

The brunet stud shook his head in disbelief. Only his little artiste could possibly be so distracted by the throes of creativity that he’d actually neglect not only a trick - and a unique one in this instance - but also his own raging hard-on. The boy clearly needed a caretaker, and Brian rather liked the idea of filling that position.

  


“True Sin, you have the teensiest, tightest hole I’ve ever encountered,” Justin told the Mormon, “so it’ll probably hurt less if I penetrate you from the back or the side instead of from the front in the missionary position.”

 

Justin did his best to ignore Brian’s outraged gasp in regard to the Sinner’s hole being the tightest ever. The man was thirty-four years old, for fuck’s sake! And he’d been a practicing gay since he was fourteen! How could his asshole possible be as tight? Why would he want it to be? Brian might play the part of the inveterate top to perfection, but he’d probably bottomed when he was younger, and he had certainly used his fingers, toys and - with increasing frequency over the last five years - Justin’s dick to get himself off.

 

“Wha . . . what’d you do?” Truesen stuttered, “. . . you know . . . when you blessed Brian with your virginity?” the Sinner concluded.

 

Brian guffawed so hard at the word ‘blessed’ that he sprayed his last gulp of Beam all over the two boys.

 

“Thanks, Stud,” Justin smiled as if Brian had done him a favor before leaning over to lick the golden liquid and splotches of come off of Truesen’s torso. “Yum! Beam and come, two of my favorite taste sensations,” the blond declared.

 

Brian nonchalantly shrugged and resumed stroking his dick, immeasurably turned on by that pink tongue lapping at the Sinner’s torso. “Since you virgins make a habit of erupting all over my new duvets, it doesn’t really matter if I add to the stains, does it?”

 

“You really do taste good aaaall over,” Justin drawled to the Sinner, deliberately baiting the brunet for dissing the idea that the blond had blessed him. Naturally, Brian hadn’t been able to remember Justin’s name that night, but - in spite of being high on Molly and Poppers - he had no trouble years later recalling the mess Justin had made on his duvet. Fucking drama queen. *snicker* As if the stud had never besmirched his bed linens himself.

 

Justin nipped and licked his way over to True Sin’s right nipple, where he proceeded to encircle the nub with his tongue before drawing back and blowing on the sensitive flesh, making it tighten even further. Finally, he bit down gently on that nub while pinching the other nipple between his fingers.

 

Truesen arched his back, stunned at the sensations

coursing through his body. “H . . . how did’ya know that feelsh so good?” he panted.

 

“Hmm, you need to learn your erogenous zones, True. A lover can help you explore them, but you’re the only one who truly knows what feels good to you. If you want, I can give you some tips about what to try.”

 

“Can you show me now, Jushin?” the newbie faggot beamed at his angel.

 

The blond teased, “Sure, but I thought you wanted to get fucked now.” At the Sinner’s emphatic nod, he continued, “In answer to the question you asked earlier, Brian fucked me in missionary position the first time. We wanted to watch each other, and that’s not really possible if you’re behind someone - unless you’re fucking in front of a mirror, of course. Then, both of you can watch as you get off.”

 

Truesen’s eyes bugged out at the idea of looking into a mirror as he got fucked, and his dick twitched some more, evidently considering that a very enticing, albeit slightly scary, notion.

 

“Okay, True Sin. Your choice. But, whether you want it from the front, back, or side, assume the position now!” Justin jocularly commanded, “or I’m gonna come before we get started.” The blond knew he could be ready for another round in almost no time if he jerked off or asked Brian to get him off, but he wanted the bragging rights for his extraordinary control and stamina. Plus, he was enjoying riding the edge of pleasure-pain too much to stop now. He’d never gone this long during sex play without coming - not unless he’d been wearing a cock ring and probably other restraints, too. He doubted even Brian could claim a better record.

 

Truesen slowly lay down on his back, his head sinking into the pillows while he gazed trustingly at the blond. “I want to watch you . . . Angel.”

 

Brain harrumphed. An angel? Hardly. “A devil’s more like it,” the stud mumbled. That youthful appearance, blond hair, and sunshiny smile deceived people all too easily.

 

The angelic blond disregarded the stud’s latest snark and grinned reassuringly at the Sinner while he scooted a couple pillows under the boy’s hips. “Hold your knees up to your chest, True,” he instructed.

 

True Sin complied, licking his lips nervously while Justin took the lube from the nightstand, flipped open the tube, squirted out a large dollop, and rubbed the ointment briskly between his fingers to warm it up a little. The blond angel then reached down and smeared the lube around the Sinner’s pucker, gradually pushing some inward with the tip of his index finger. When that finger sank in to the first knuckle, he added his middle finger, gradually continuing the invasion until both fine-boned digits were almost fully inserted in True Sin’s ass.

 

“Breathe, True Sin. That’s it, in . . . and . . . out.” Justin pushed his fingers inward and pulled them out in time with the Sinner’s shallow breaths. As the Mormon relaxed, he scissored his fingers apart and then back together. Next, Justin crooked his fingers and tapped the Mormon’s prostate while simultaneously pressing against his perineum with the fingers of his other hand.

 

The Sinner screamed, “Glory, glory, hallelujah!” and would have somersaulted backward off the bed if he hadn’t banged his knees against the headboard.

 

Both studs burst out laughing. A levitating, somersaulting, born-again gay. Truly something unique in their experience.

 

Truesen rocked back down onto his ass and begged, “What was that, Jushin? Can ya make it happensh again?”

 

“I just introduced you to your prostate,” giggled the blond. “You’re gonna be good friends.” He coaxed, “Okay, let’s get your knees back in the air. That’s it.”

 

“That fuckin’ giggle should be outlawed, Sunshine!” the brunet observer exclaimed as his cock expanded and hardened even more.

 

“He’s riiight, Angel. Thash teeheehee makes me crazy,” the Sinner concurred.

 

Naturally, that made the blond giggle harder. Justin tore open a condom package, scooted up so he was next to the virginal butt, and said, “Here. Roll it onto my dick.”

 

Truesen blinked in confusion. He barely knew what a condom was and had never anticipated the need for one, since he’d been indoctrinated that he’d be be a family man with a wife and children. He and his wife would be pure until their wedding night, when they’d proceed with producing a large family, as encouraged by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although, Truesen had half hoped that hypothetical future wife would get pregnant by osmosis, that he wouldn’t have to actually touch her.

 

“Uh, why d’we need one of thosh? You can’t get me with child,” the bewildered Sinner asserted.

 

What had he gotten himself into? the blond wondered. It hadn’t been nearly this much work when he’d fucked his first two virgins. Maybe Brian had a point about staying away from them; they really were a lot of trouble.

 

“You’re correct,” the blond replied, stifling a chuckle at the ridiculous notion of male pregnancy, “but I want you to live long and prosper, to fuck lots of guys. Never, ever fuck without a condom. It’s the most reliable means for avoiding sexually-transmitted diseases,” the blond public service announcer lectured. “Promise me you’ll always use a condom.”

 

“O . . . okay, I will,” Truesen swore, “always. I promish onna Book a Mormon.”

 

Justin smiled wryly. At least True was taking his warning seriously. It would take a while, though, before he realized the Mormon bible no longer applied to him. Or any other bible, probably.

 

Justin placed his hands over the Sinner’s and showed him how to roll the condom down his cock. He then had True slather more lube onto the condom, recommending, “More lube is always better, True Sin. Sex is messy anyhow, and extra lube isn’t gonna make it messier.”

 

Following Justin’s instructions, the Sinner draped his legs over the blond’s shoulders. “W . . . wait,” he quavered when he felt Justin’s dick pressing against his asshole, “thash awful big. An’ you shaid I’m awful small. Are you shure it’ll fit?”

 

“I haven’t murdered anyone with it yet,” the blond joked and then reassured, “True, gay men have been doing this for millennia. You’ll be all right. Now, I want you to push back against me as I push forward so it doesn’t hurt so much.”

 

Truesen followed Justin’s advice but still felt like he was being split in two as Justin’s cock slowly pushed into him, inch by inch. By the time Justin bottomed out against his ass, True was positive he’d never want to repeat the experience. But then a miracle occurred. Justin pulled out and pushed back in, brushing across his prostate in each direction. Truesen’s feet flexed and then his toes curled to the cadence of the blond’s motions. Such rapture! Deliriously, Truesen wondered how, if men were made in God’s image, this could possibly be considered immoral. Wouldn’t every man want to experience this bliss?

 

Brian hadn’t gotten to watch Justin fuck the frat boy, the blond’s first and only virgin as far as the older man knew. With his sexual superpowers, he’d detected the virgin’s scent on Justin afterwards, but observing Justin while he inducted a novice into the ranks of Pittsburgh’s fags was so much better than sniffing it out after the fact. It had always been a turn-on to watch Justin fuck someone else, but this was something . . . more. Brian was startled to realize he was proud of his blond for showing such tenderness toward the Sinner. But for Justin, Brian wouldn’t have welcomed True Sin into the loft in the first place, and he sure as shit wouldn’t have been so patient with the tyro, explaining the ins and outs of gay sex and allaying his fears.

 

“Jushin, there ish a seventh heaven, and we’re in it,” Pittsburgh’s newest fag rhapsodized.

 

The brunet stud stroked his cock in tandem with Justin’s push-pull motions and mused that the tyro might just be right. Holly fuck! He was honored to call this blond ray of sunshine his partner. Not that he’d ever spout that lesbianic drivel out loud. But, he could show Justin how much he meant to him and do his best to ensure the blond never had any reason to leave him again. And, of course, make it clear that his boy was the best fuckin’ cocksucker in the goddamned universe. A grand gesture began to germinate in the recesses of the stud’s brain . . .

 

While the brunet’s plan was forming, Justin inserted the thumb and forefinger of his left hand into his mouth and licked and slurped until they were were thoroughly drenched with saliva. Both Truesen and Brian were completely mesmerized as that fine-boned hand slid upward over the Sinner’s ribcage until it reached the boy’s right nipple. The blond caressed and pinched that distended nub with his left hand, while clasping and stroking the Sinner’s cock with his right.

 

The Sinner panted a steady paen of, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” His hands scrabbled at the sheets as he sought something to anchor him to the bed. So many indescribable, overwhelmingly-pleasurable sensations bombarded him at once that he felt as if his soul might fly out of his body through his dick at any moment.

 

Justin knew he wouldn’t be able to stave off his own climax much longer. He directed a come-hither look at his brunet lover, who immediately sat up and scooted over to the blond. Tongues swirled around each other as their lips frantically meshed. Moments later, the Sinner let loose with a long, drawn-out “Aaaaaaahhhhhh” as spurts of come covered Justin’s hand and his own chest.

 

That cry of ecstasy triggered Brian’s orgasm, and come started shooting all over Justin’s chest and chin. Plop. Plop. More come dripped off Justin’s chin to join the streamers already decorating his torso.

 

As soon as Sinful’s muscles clamped down on his dick, Justin was also a goner. He moaned into Brian’s mouth and unloaded into the condom for what seemed like forever. He almost worried that he’d overflow the latex receptacle. It might not have been so wise, after all, to stave off his orgasm for so long.

 

The Sinner’s legs slipped off of Justin’s shoulders down onto the bed, where they curved loosely around the blond’s hips. The ex-virgin smiled sweetly at his blond angel, whose head appeared to be haloed in a golden glow. Then True’s eyes closed and he fell soundly asleep.

 

“Guess he’s finally fucked out,” Justin commented with an affectionate, though exhausted chuckle. He carefully pulled out of the Sinner, although he doubted the boy would awaken even if all the angels descended from on high, blowing their trumpets. He tied off the condom which had, indeed, been about to overflow and tossed it toward the bathroom.

 

“Yeah, you almost wore me out that first night, too,” Brian sympathized with the fatigue revealed by the blond’s raspy voice and slumped posture. “Damned virgins.”

 

“Why don’t you lie down, Big Guy? I’ll be right back,” Justin murmured, before stumbling toward the bathroom and swiping up the brimful condom on the way.

 

A few minutes later, he returned with a small bowl, a damp washcloth, and a dry towel. Placing the bowl on the nightstand next to Brian, Justin used the washcloth and towel to clean off True Sin’s belly and chest as well as wiping off the biggest globs of come from the duvet. Then he urged Brian to turn over before straddling his waist.

 

“Where’d this burst of energy come from, Sunshine?” the brunet  asked sleepily. He gladly complied with the blond’s request to turn over when he inhaled the light, citrusy tang wafting from the bowl.

 

Justin didn’t bother to respond as he dipped his fingers into the bowl, rubbed the oil between his palms, and then massaged it into his lover’s biceps, shoulders, and upper back. The Skinology oil was marketed as anti-cellulite, which Justin found hilarious; his stud didn’t have an ounce of fat anywhere on his body, but he swore by the product’s effectiveness, insisting the absence of subcutaneous fat proved it worked. The stud had privately freaked out during Ted’s fatty episode a year earlier, apparently fearing that those fat cells would somehow jump out of the accountant’s body and burrow beneath his own skin. Hence the inclusion of the anti-cellulite oil in the stud’s pharmacopoeia of anti-aging creams and lotions.

 

Justin snickered to himself over the ad exec falling for someone else’s marketing ploy. Brian was completely susceptible to products which promised to keep him toned, trim, beautiful and - above all - young. Since the stud was hooked on the oil, Justin had conspired with Cynthia to prepare a surprise for Brian’s upcoming birthday. They’d cold-called the company, persisting until they’d reached Frank Barnes, Skinology’s CEO.

 

After a phone conference that had lasted nearly an hour, Frank had agreed to hear Kinnetik’s pitch. The company had been marketing through Amazon and, although that provided widespread exposure, it didn’t give the company the exclusive cachet that would allow them to charge more for their products.

 

Frank had been intrigued by the idea of marketing the products to gay men, which no one at Skinology had previously considered as a target group.

 

Justin had prepared the boards himself, focusing on the gay demographic and appealing to the increasing demand for products manufactured in the USA. Fortunately, Justin had been freelancing for Kinnetik on a couple of other accounts, so his presence at the agency had so far gone unremarked by Brian.

 

Van Morrison’s voice drifted from the speakers, making both men smile. Together, they’d made it to the [ Bright Side of the Road ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCDZzf4ragg). “Mmm hmm,” moaned the brunet, relaxing even further into the bed as Justin moved downward, kneading the oil into the small of his back, his dimples of Venus - Justin hadn’t met any other guy with dimples that sexy - the firm ass cheeks, and his toned thighs.

 

“I’ll be your canvas and let you do that all night if you want, Sunshine,” Brian muttered. “Love the magic you work with your hands . . .”

 

Justin smiled and leaned forward to murmur, “Love you, too, Stud,” thinking of all the hours Brian still spent massaging his gimp hand. He never said a word; he would just reach for Justin’s hand when it started spasming and rub until it had relaxed again.

 

After massaging his way down those long, lean legs and rubbing the stud’s feet, Justin got up from the bed, pulled the duvet out from under the two dark-haired men, crawled into the bed between Brian and True Sin, and brought the duvet up to cover all three of them. Brian immediately shifted over to rest his head on Justin’s chest and draped one arm and leg across the younger man in a possessive gesture, his eyes remaining closed the whole time.

 

Justin glanced over at True Sin and saw that the lad was looking at him forlornly. Justin wondered if True had been awake while he was massaging Brian. It might explain the longing look in the Sinner’s eyes; he was probably starved for intimacy as well as for sex.

 

When Justin gestured to the Sinner to snuggle up to his other side, Truesen responded with alacrity. Brian mumbled in protest as the lad’s head bumped against his own on Justin’s chest, but subsided when the blond murmured, “He has nowhere else to go, Brian.”

 

All three men drifted off to sleep, Brian and Truesen securely wrapped in Justin’s arms for the night.

  


Song for Chapter 4

Vangelis, 1492: Conquest of Paradise Theme

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94dY-QxjDiE ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=94dY-QxjDiE)  

 


	5. Exodus, Part 1 (aka Aftermath, Part 1)

Truesen drifted between sleep and awareness, settling deeper into blissful warmth, unaware that the heat was generated by Justin’s body. Surely, he must still be dreaming, since his twin bed with the board-like mattress had never cradled him so comfortably. Those slurping sounds were definitely out-of-place, though, as were the ‘ahs’, ‘mmms’, grunts, and moans.

 

The sun shouldn’t be lancing into his head either. But, wait, that didn’t make sense. If it were later than six o’clock, Decken, his assigned companion in Pittsburgh and the occupant of the other twin bed in the room, would surely have awakened him.

 

Oh, no! He was going to be late for morning scripture study. Truesen bolted upright in the bed only to find himself blinking in confusion when he beheld entwined limbs belonging to two men, one set of legs dusted with golden-blond hair and the other with brunet hair. Suddenly, his ass twinging in protest as it supported his weight, the events of the previous night came flooding back.

 

Holy Moses! He was gay. He was also no longer a virgin. He’d been reborn. His ass was sore. His ass wanted Justin’s dick again anyway.

 

While those thoughts tumbled about chaotically, he realized the two gorgeous men in bed with him were kissing and caressing each other, their motions growing ever more feverish. Trusen’s tallywacker apparently liked both the sizzling view and the slurping noises, since it swelled and strained upward.

 

The newly-minted Sinner swallowed hard and panted harder when Brian, who had moved atop Justin, began rubbing his dick against the blond’s. Oh, yes, his cock definitely wanted to try that! Had he actually said that? He must have made made some kind of noise because the brunet was suddenly looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

 

Brian bit down on the blond’s lower lip before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue and another prolonged kiss. “Aaangel,” he intoned - infusing ‘angel’ with wry amusement - “your disciple has awakened.”

 

“Hey,” the angel waved at True Sin in a sweetly dorky way, “looks like your morning woody is saluting the day, too.”

 

“Woody?” the Sinner frowned in puzzlement. When he realized the blond was eying his cock, he guessed, “Oh you mean my . . . my p . . . penis.”

 

Brian, who had been biting and sucking at that oh-so-sensitive spot behind Justin’s earlobe, guffawed, “Christ, Sinful. No self-respecting fag refers to his cock as a ‘p . . . penis’,” the stud said dismissively, precisely imitating the Sinner’s prudish stutter.

 

Fortunately, the blond angel quickly distracted him from his embarrassment. Justin waggled his eyebrows at the Sinner, lifted his hand and - as if conducting an orchestra - began waving an imaginary baton and chanting, “It’s my cock, my dick, my wang, my prick.”

 

Truesen, who possessed excellent recall, chimed in, “It’s a schlong, a snake, a joystick, a custard launcher.”

 

The boys cackled madly, their chanting becoming unsynchronized as they sang out the other euphemisms, “It’s my one-eyed monster, my tool, my knob.”

 

“It’s a truncheon, a creamsicle, a s . . . sperm spitter.”

 

Brian, who definitely didn’t want to miss out on the fun, contributed, “It’s my bishop in his nice red hat, my blue-veined sausage, my gearshift.”

 

Justin teased, “You have a pocket rocket, Sinner, a veritable pajama python.”

 

Brian snarked, “Justin’s jackhammer emulates the ‘Energizer Bunny’!”

 

“And you’re carrying around a giant sequoia, Brian,” Truesen quipped, looking inordinately pleased with himself when both men chuckled.

 

“It is a loooong schlong,” Justin giggled, that provocative sound predictably making Brian’s fishing pole and True’s mayonnaise pistol hard as steel.

 

“So . . . that bar we were in last night . . . was it named after this?” Truesen bravely reached out and touched his woody, stroking one finger along the underside of his cock.

 

Justin smiled in approval, opened his mouth to respond, and then gasped when Brian leaned down and began rimming his bellybutton. That talented tongue laved around the small opening and then stabbed inward. Smug satisfaction shone from the brunet’s hazel eyes as the blond restlessly squirmed and panted, arching his stomach upward for more attention.

 

“I . . . unhhhhhh . . . don’t know for sure how Woody’s was named. *pant* Could be the owner already *gasp* had the nickname ‘Woody’ and decided the double entendre *pant* would add to the allure of a gay bar.”

 

Truesen flushed bright coral and hesitantly sputtered, “Justin, that thing you and Brian were doing when I woke up, rubbing your c . . . cocks together. . .” The young man rushed onward so quickly that it came out as one long word, “couldwemaybetrythatlaterplease?”

 

Moaning, “Ahhhh!” and gasping for air as Brian gave a last flick of his tongue to his bellybutton and then began gradually running his tongue down his treasure trail, the blond barely heard True Sin’s question but somehow managed to parse what he meant. “Unh, that’s, unh, called, Unnngh! frotting,” Justin finally managed to eke out.

 

With a herculean effort, Justin focused on True Sin, “Sure. We can try that later. But, in the *hisssss* meantime, why let a perfectly good boner go to waste? Why don’t you *pant* practice *gasp* jerking off?”

 

Truesen looked down at his cock uncertainly before tentatively grasping it in his right hand.

 

“That’s it,” Justin encouraged, “just slide your hand back and forth along your dick . . . Oh, fuuuck!” the blond screamed when Brian’s mouth reached his cock, and the brunet deepthroated it in one fell swoop.

 

Brian didn’t often go down on his boy when someone else was present but would sometimes make an exception in the privacy of their loft. After all, he’d set the precedent the night they’d met. Even though he’d been high, he’d damned well known what he was doing when he’d dived for that tasty treat while Michael had been driving the jeep. This morning, that fucking blond ex-virgin had been similarly irresistible. The brunet stud had craved a taste just as suddenly as on that long-ago morning.

 

Brian didn’t pull back at all. He wanted his protein breakfast drink NOW. While pressing his tongue against the underside of the blond’s cock, humming, and swallowing, he inserted one long, tanned finger into Justin’s ass and tapped against the blond’s prostate.

 

Justin bucked upward as all the blood in his body surged toward his dick. Fuck! No one gave better head than Brian. He could make Justin come in less than a minute or make him ride the edge of orgasm for hours on end. The blond was grateful that this was going to be a quick and dirty blowjob; he’d have an aneurysm if he nad to wait. He bucked, panted, begged, “Now, fuck, now!” and erupted.

 

Brian greedily gulped down his blond boy’s come as it shot directly down his throat to fill his stomach. On the verge of coming himself, he sat up and tugged at his cock - once, twice - and ropes of come splattered across Justin’s torso and face.

 

At the same time, gushes of white cream drenched the blond from the other side. It had taken a few minutes, but Truesen had found a rhythm that worked. He truly had no idea that his cock was aimed at Justin or even that his orgasm was imminent; the tide simply rose and crested out of his dick.

 

“Fuck! That was hot!” the sated blond exclaimed as Brian and Truesen nodded in agreement.

 

The brunet swiped up some of the triple cream delight with his hand and leaned forward to offer a taste to Justin. After licking Brian’s fingers clean, the blond then tilted his face up for a kiss. Brian immediately complied, swirling his tongue around in Justin’s mouth, tasting himself, Truesen, and his blond. “Hmm. Not bad,” the stud complimented the combined piquant tang.

  


As he watched his angel and the brunet swap spit, it dawned on Truesen that he hadn’t kissed his blond savior. Of course, he’d never seen two men kiss before yesterday or considered that possibility for himself. Now, the idea sent a pleasurable tingle racing along the young man’s spine. “Justin,” he asked timidly, “could I kiss you?”

 

The blond was startled by the request although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because the fags of Liberty Avenue knew that Justin and Brian didn’t lock lips with anyone except each other. In the wake of the fiddler fiasco, neither of the studs had ever said outright that they didn’t kiss anyone else, but they always turned away or uttered a firm ‘No’ when someone tried to kiss them.

 

Naturally, the gossip had flown fast and furious a few years earlier when, following the fiasco with the fugly Zucchini Man, Brian had tracked down HIS blond at Babylon. He’d dismissed Justin’s dance partner - another blond hottie, although of a taller, more muscular variety - with a curt ‘Fuck off!’. Daniel, the jilted hottie, had sidled away from the angry, possessive Kinney, but hadn’t gone further than a couple steps. He’d pretended to dance with someone else in the heaving, sweating, glitter-bedecked throng, but his shoulder had brushed against the brunet’s back the entire time. Brian, who’d been intent on his mission to recapture his wayward boy, hadn’t noticed Daniel’s eavesdropping efforts.

 

Scenting scandal in the air, Daniel had wanted to be the first gossip queen to spread whatever news came from the confrontation between the brunet and the blond. His jaw had nearly dropped to the floor when he’d heard the reigning Stud of Liberty Avenue agree to the rules stipulated by the adorable blond twinkie. As the purveyor of that bit of juicy scandal, Daniel’s fame had lasted for weeks. Plus, he’d been able to stick it to ol’ Zucchini Man, who’d been boasting about what hot shit he was after he’d manipulated the stud into a fuck. The gossip-mongering Daniel had delighted in taking his ex down a peg, particularly since the man’s langer was no zucchini. ‘Good riddance to bad cess’, the blond hottie had told himself when Zuke had slunk out the door of Woody’s.

 

And, ooh la la, the sizzling, heart-stopping kiss with which the two men had sealed the deal! Daniel creamed himself every time he told the tale. One result of the bargain between the blond and brunet studs was that none of Pittsburgh’s fags pushed for a kiss on the lips, not if they wanted either stud - preferably both - to treat them to the fuck of a lifetime. True Sin, however, didn’t know about the bargain or even the reverence with which both Brian and Justin were treated as the Kings of Liberty Avenue and Babylon, respectively.

 

“Brian and I only kiss each other,” the blond clarified - realizing that he’d never before explained this to another person. Well, not including Daphne, but he told his best female friend almost everything. “We fuck other men, but we’ve reserved that intimacy for ourselves.” At the Sinner’s despondent mien, he elucidated, “Truly, neither of us kisses another man on the lips unless it’s nonsexual, a kiss of greeting for a friend.”

 

At this point, Brian was shocked to hear himself say, “Go ahead, Sunshine. We’ll make a one-time exception.” What was wrong with him? Justin had just made everything clear, and True Sin didn’t seem unduly upset, so why was Brian pushing for the two lads to kiss? He attempted to turn it into a bit of a joke, “Have to complete the de-virgin-ization process, Blondie. Can’t let him leave the loft a kissing tyro.”

 

Justin was utterly nonplussed. He never could have imagined any circumstance under which Brian would encourage him to kiss someone else. Perplexed, he stared at his partner, wanting confirmation from Brian that he should proceed. Brian made a shooing motion with his hands, so Justin turned toward True Sin. He wasn’t at all sure he wanted to kiss the ebon-maned lad, even if it meant the Sinner would remain a kissing rookie for awhile longer. Looking into True Sin’s wistful, puppy-dog eyes, however, he couldn’t bear to disappoint the boy.

 

Truesen quickly scooted over when the blond nodded at him. Even though he’d watched numerous men kiss in the last half day, he had no idea how to proceed, so he waited for his angel to make the first move.

 

It appeared to Brian that the two men were moving in slow motion. He was glad Justin hadn’t jumped at the offered exception, and that - as far as Brian could tell - he was merely acquiescing to the neediness in the Sinner’s eyes rather than proceeding out of any real desire to kiss True. Brian was baffled as to his own motivation. Why was he encouraging this? Justin was the one who had been the rule-breaker, first with the frat boy and then with the fiddle fuck. After Justin had left him for the fiddler, Brian still hadn’t broken the no kissing rule. To this day, he’d held fast and not kissed any man other than Justin on the mouth.

 

Plain and simple, no one tasted as good as the blond. Besides, it was one way to show Justin that he loved him. Brian still found it difficult to say the words, but kissing was THEIR intimate act. They’d always communicated so well through touch, even when they weren’t fucking. Since Justin’s New York sojourn had ended and he’d returned, Brian had become secure in the knowledge that Justin heard his ‘I love yous’ loud and clear as he worshipped the blond’s body. Ugh. The blond would laugh himself silly if he could hear these lesbianic thoughts. Brian might never put it into words, but he didn’t delude himself - he damned well did worship his Sunshine.

 

Maybe, mused the stud, this was a way for him to deal with his jealousy over the connection between Justin and True Sin. If he gave the blond permission - not that he’d dare phrase it quite that way if he wanted Justin’s cooperation - he controlled the situation. Yes, he decided, everything would be okay as long as they agreed about how to proceed. No secrets. No running away.

 

While Brian had been working out his motives, Justin had finally gotten a move on with the kissing business. He reached out and rubbed his thumb across True Sin’s lips, pulling the bottom one down a bit. Then, he leaned forward and inserted his tongue between True’s lips, sliding his hand over to cup the side of his face. Pressing forward, he melded his lips with the Sinner’s and stroked his tongue over and around the young man’s tongue.

 

Truesen let out a deep groan as the kiss became more passionate and Justin began to tongue fuck his mouth. He tried to burrow deeper into that warm cavern, licking and sucking on Justin’s tongue in return.

 

Brian couldn’t believe how turned on he was watching Justin and the Sinner kiss. Holy fuck! He’d feared he would feel angry or sad or something in between, but he just wanted to fuck his blond again and then take his turn with the Sinner, pounding one man after the other into the mattress. His dick throbbed as if he hadn’t come mere minutes earlier.

 

As he watched the two young men, the brunet found himself sifting through memories of all the times he’d kissed Justin. That first, tentative kiss which soon became impassioned and sent fire coursing through his veins. French kisses. Ice cream kisses. Teasing, playful kisses. Soul-searing kisses. Every single kiss so fucking right.

 

Brian never wanted all that kissing with Justin to end. And, even though he was turned on by the two lip-locked boys, he realized he still wanted to keep the rest of Justin’s kisses to himself. This was a one-off exception - one Brian had decided to grant. Being in control had made it acceptable, arousing - even enjoyable - but it didn’t merit a repeat.

 

Now that he’d figured out what he wanted, even Justin’s lauding True Sin as ‘a natural born kisser’, didn’t diminish Brian’s good mood. The blond was his, and Brian would make damned sure he knew it.

  


After the boys finally surfaced for air the third time, with Truesen daringly nipping at the blond’s plump lower lip as they parted, the Sinner motioned toward Justin’s cock and asked, “May I?”

 

“May you what?” Justin laughingly responded. “Stroke my bloke?”

 

“Uh,” True Sin wriggled, “no.”

 

The blond’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline, “No? You don’t wanna sweep up my broomstick?”

 

More squirming. “No, I mean yes. No.” Truesen looked absolutely mortified and frustrated at his inability to express what he wanted, and a scarlet blush began to travel from his chest, across his Adam’s apple, and over his face, tingeing the tips of his ears a darker crimson.

 

Brian, who’d figured out what True Sin wanted, took pity on the lad. “He wants to suck you, to milk your come pump, Sunshine.” He turned to the bashful Sinner and asked, “Isn’t that right, True?”

 

Truesen’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes! Yes please!” he requested ever so politely and eagerly.

 

“Have at it,” Brian advised, waving languidly toward Justin’s prick, which had perked up and was plainly taking an interest in the proceedings.

 

Truesen dithered. Have at it? “Uh, how?” Sinful squeaked. At their incredulous stares, he hurried on, “I mean, I know you showed me last night, but I was so . . . so aroused, it was hard to pay attention.”

 

Justin smiled smugly but didn’t utter a word. He was curious as to how the Big Guy would go about instructing Truesen, providing he deigned to do so in the first place.

 

“For Chrissake,” Brian muttered to himself in irritation. The Great God Kinney did NOT teach the fine art of cocksucking. Justin had imbibed the art via Brian’s man milk, so why couldn’t the Sinner do the same? *sigh* Those fucking puppy-dog eyes. Now he understood why Justin had finally given in and kissed the lad. Fucking blue-eyed boys. Until he’d met Justin, he’d thought that soulful, puppy-dog look was the provenance of his brown-eyed best friend. Yet, here was another boy with bright blue eyes beseeching him to help. Goddammit.

 

If he was gonna do this, Brian determined, he might as well do a good job,. He’d use Justin as the test dummy and then, provided the raven-haired lad learned quickly, he’d even let the Sinner test out his skills on Liberty Avenue’s most famous citizen.

 

“You’d better move closer if you wanna suck, True.” Brian mocked.” The stud suddenly looked like an impish youngling as he bragged, “Justin may have a big dick, and mine is longer still, but even my schlong wouldn’t stretch quite that far.”

 

Blond and brunet communicated silently as Truesen crawled over toward Justin, the blond obligingly letting his legs drop open so that the Sinner could crawl up to his crotch. He would find it challenging enough to approach head on; he could learn the nuances of sucking from the side or in a sixty-nine position later on.

 

Brian was tempted to scoot up behind True Sin and torment him while he learned to blow Justin, but he figured the lad would be too distracted to concentrate on developing his oral skills if he did that. “Wrap your hand around Justin’s dick,” the brunet advised, “firmly but not so firmly that you squeeze his pecker off.”

 

When a nervous Truesen took Justin’s cock in hand so loosely that he might as well not have been holding it at all, Brian rolled his eyes and chided, “You did better than this with your own pecker not long ago. What feels good to you is gonna feel good to Justin. Practice makes perfect. Hold his dick and stroke him like you stroked yourself.”

 

True Sin began to relax and gained confidence with each encouraging moan from Justin. “Mmm, yeah, right there, like that,” Justin murmured when True Sin lightly ran a fingernail under the frenulum. The Sinner beamed; he’d hoped Justin would like that. He’d done it to himself by accident when jerking off and was excited to find that Brian was right; if it stimulated him, it would likely also turn Justin on.

 

Stroke up. Stroke down. Up, down. A few more times and Truesen surprised himself by leaning over and sticking out his tongue to tentatively touch the head of Justin’s cock.

 

“That’s right, True. Lick it,” ordered the brunet, who was finding the role of teacher surprisingly stimulating. “No, don’t stop stroking,” he amended when Truesen almost let Justin’s cock drop down onto his belly. “You can do two things at once, can’t you, Sinful?” the brunet taunted. Brian was determined to rile up the mild-mannered ex-Mormon enough that he would forget his skittishness.

 

It worked. Truesen began to lick around the crown and tentatively slid his hand back and forth along Justin’s cock.

 

“Good boy,” Brian praised huskily. “Now try swallowing around the head. Keep your teeth covered, though,” he warned. “Always remember, that’s the first rule of giving a good blowjob.”

 

True Sin complied, but went too far and started choking. He backed off and coughed, attempting to get his breath back. He wasn’t ready to give up that easily, though, not when the brunet had gotten his dander up. Unfortunately, he miscalculated again on his second attempt at swallowing the blond’s cockhead and took in half of Justin’s length all at once. Tears streamed from his eyes and he gagged as he pulled away from the blond.

 

When he could finally speak again, he raspily yelled, “Justin, I need to ask you one question. ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND? There is no way I can do this.”

 

“You’re learning to curse like a pro,” Justin chuckled admiringly. “Don’t give up so easily. You don’t need to take in more than the head of my dick if that’s all you can manage.

That’s it,” he approved as Truesen returned to his lesson, this time only taking the crown into his mouth.

 

Brian, who was giving himself a leisurely hand job while True learned the basics of fellatio, said, “Good. Swirl your tongue around that cockhead, but don’t bite down. Now swallow. Good.” Brian reinforced his approval. “Synchronize your licking and swallowing with the push-pull of your hand on his cock and Blondie will be coming in no time.”

 

The Sinner felt somewhat alarmed, which was reflected on his face. “Easy, True,” Brian soothed. If you don’t want Justin to come in your mouth, tell him now, and he’ll let you know when he’s about to blow so you can pull off.”

 

Truesen wasn’t sure that was what he wanted either. The only come he’d sampled so far had been his own, following his first ever hand job in the loft. Justin had scooped some off the Sinner’s chest and had coerced True into a taste test.

 

Sensing the young man’s indecisiveness, Brian added, “You will earn a better rep if you swallow it all down like a champ, particularly if you show how much you enjoy a good load. Don’t swallow if someone has stinky spunk - spit that shit out - but don’t deny yourself the pleasure of gourmet come, either. And you sure as fuck won’t find Grade AAA come that tastes better than mine and Justin’s.”

 

Truesen’s head was swimming with the overload of information and advice, but he gamely decided he wanted to swallow. He doubled his efforts, lifting, sucking, and stroking.

 

Justin groaned and moaned, thrashing about on the bed. His heels dug into True Sin’s back as he pushed his cock upward. Suddenly, he stiffened, hoarsely choking out a warning, “pull back now, True, or it’s gonna be too late.”

 

When Justin’s lava erupted into his mouth in spurt after creamy spurt, it proved to be too much for the Sinner to swallow. This time, though, he was he sure that he liked the salty, slightly fishy flavor. In fact, he thought he might come to relish it.

 

When some of Justin’s jism dripped from the corners of True’s mouth and dribbled down his chin, Brian reached out and caught it with his fingers. “Fuck, that’s good,” he moaned as he inserted his fingers into his mouth, sucked, and pulled his fingers out with a popping sound.

 

“Not bad for a tyro, True Sin,” the blond angel complimented, making his Sinner beam. “You’ll get even better with practice.”

 

“Practice makes perfect,” Brian reiterated, “especially with a late start like yours, Sinner.”

 

Justin joshed, “Even I was a later bloomer compared to you, Stud, not giving a blowie till I was seventeen.”

 

The stud chuckled, “Not just anyone can be a blowjob genius at fourteen.” He didn’t really care if True Sin learned that basic fact about Brian Kinney; after all, it had long been part of the Legend of Brian Fucking Kinney, the Stud of Liberty Avenue.

 

Truesen gaped at the brunet. Fourteen? Brian would have been just a boy. Even seventeen struck him as far too young.

 

“Close your mouth, True,” the blond admonished, “if your sexualtiy hadn’t been repressed, you woulda started a lot sooner. Years earlier,” Justin emphasized.

 

“Yep. We homos are a horny lot,” Brian confirmed, “always looking for the next best fuck.”

 

“Wanna practice some more, True?” the irrepressible, irresistible, blond Energizer Bunny challenged.

 

The Sinner’s mind was spinning, but his pecker plumped up and voted ‘yes, please’. “Wha . . . what are we gonna do, Angel?”

 

“Shower sex!” Justin and Brian chimed in joyous unison.

 

Brian led the way into the bathroom, piping out, “You can’t keep a good gay down.”

  


Song for Chapter 5

Miranda Cosgrove: Kissin’ You

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3iPBamDq5o ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3iPBamDq5o)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go to Kinnetik Dreams, www.kinnetikdreams.com, to view all the story graphics.


	6. Exodus, Part 2 (aka Aftermath, Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting the alternate story banner samcdee created for me at the beginning of this chapter. Both banners are so gorgeous that I had a hard time deciding which one to use as the story banner and which one to include with Facebook posts. Many thanks to Banner Queen Shari!

                                

 

Truesen’s introduction to shower sex hadn’t lasted all that long - even though he’d come twice - but had been extremely enjoyable nonetheless. Brian had orchestrated a fuck with Truesen as the filling in a stud sandwich. With the warm water raining down on them, Truesen had been instructed to brace his arms against the back wall of the shower, Justin facing him, encircled by the Sinner’s arms. Brian, who’d had plenty of practice with the height difference between himself and the blond, had easily compensated for the Sinner’s shorter stature, prepping the boy, rolling on a condom, and bending his knees to push his long schlong into that snug tunnel from the rear.

 

The brunet had barely pushed his nine inches all the way into True Sin when the lad had started spurting all over his own and Justin’s chests. With Brian’s dick stimulating him from the back and his angel’s cock frotting against him from the front, Truesen hadn’t been able to contain himself. His eruption had been virtually instantaneous.

 

While Justin had sunk down to his knees and begun to gently lick and suck at the Sinner’s cock - which had stirred back to life within just a few minutes - Brian had held still, his prick still deeply embedded in True’s ass. He hadn’t complained about his awkward stance, but had patiently waited till Sin’s dick revived so that the additional stimulation would feel pleasurable rather than painful, before beginning to pull out and push back in, again and again.

 

Truesen hadn’t lasted much longer that time around either, shooting his load down Justin’s throat and clamping down so hard on the brunet’s dick that Brian, also, had instantly come,. He’d carefully pulled out of the young man while  Justin had pushed himself back up so that he was once again standing in front of the Sinner.

 

Brian had glanced at Justin’s flaccid creamsicle before cocking a questioning eyebrow at the blond. With a satisfied, replete look on his face, Justin had shrugged, “Wasn’t about to wait this time. All that backed up come isn’t healthy. And, as you know, an appetizing protein drink gets me off every time.”

 

“Christ,” Brian had lamented, staggering slightly as he’d straightened up from his crouched position, “my knees weren’t built for such short twinks.”

 

“No worries, Stud,” Justin’s ass had swayed as he’d stepped out of the shower, “if you’re getting too old for it, we can always forego shower sex in the future.”

 

Brian had snorted. As if. Even if the two of them ended up in a nursing home someday, he’d still be banging his blond, in and out of the shower.

 

Now that they’d finished washing and toweling themselves off, Justin began styling Truesen’s hair while Brian monitored Emmett’s progress with Kinnetik’s anniversary gala by email and instant message. The blond worked the ridiculously expensive French gel into the Sinner’s hair, shaping it into a modified Mohawk while they chatted. “Fuck, True, you look really hot!” Justin exclaimed, finally allowing the Sinner to stand up and take a look in the mirrored closet door.

 

Who WAS that in the mirror? Truesen didn’t recognize himself. Whoever it was, though, he thought maybe he agreed with Justin about the guy being pretty attractive.

  


Justin embraced the Sinner from behind, enfolding him in his arms, and whistled, “Look at those muscles! That chiseled profile. Sizable package. ‘Just got up’ bedhead. You are HOT!”

 

Truesen couldn’t help preening a bit at the praise, even though he’d had it drummed into him all his life that pride was a sin.

 

“Just wait till the fags of Liberty Avenue get a gander at you, True Sin! They’ll never recognize you as the dorky dude from Woody’s.” Justin prattled on some more, “They’re gonna be on you like white on rice. Your dance card is gonna be full, Sin.”

 

Justin handed Truesen a pair of navy briefs and then rooted around in his side of the closet until he triumphantly emerged with a pair of khaki cargo pants. “Here, these are clean and I think they’ll fit you.”

 

True Sin pulled on the underwear and the pants. He had always been a bit of a wallflower, with no one really noticing him or talking with him at social functions. But now, he felt transformed. He stared at himself in the mirror, glanced at Justin, and then looked back at himself. “I really am . . . hot,” he said in astonishment.

 

“You don’t fill out those cargos quite like I do, but otherwise you’re a walking wet dream,” Justin agreed with the Sinner’s assessment. “Flex those abs,” the blond requested, running the tips of his fingers along the outline of True Sin’s abdominal muscles.

 

True obediently flexed and stared at the stranger in the mirror.

 

“Good, Sinner,” the blond approved. “You’re starting to look like a real stud. You are definitely going to wow them.” A mischievous glint entered Justin’s eyes, “Speaking of wowing them, why don’t you walk on out into the living room like you’re a model on a runway. After you pass Brian, turn around and spread your arms out at shoulder height.”

 

Truesen wasn’t sure what the blond angel hoped to accomplish, but he didn’t see any harm in complying. He sauntered past the brunet, who was seated in front of his computer, spun around on his heel, and then stood next to to the stud, displaying his muscled torso.

 

Brian looked up right after taking a gulp of coffee and did a spit-take all over his keyboard - unwittingly imitating Ted’s reaction when the accountant had opened Brian and Justin’s wedding invitation. From the steps leading to the bedroom, the blond’s hysterical laughter resounded at the success of his ploy. Brian couldn’t help but join in the hilarity; he really didn’t give a fuck about the keyboard. This gave him an excuse - as if he needed one - to upgrade his computer to the latest model.

 

The brunet had to admit that his boy had been right - the Sinner had been hiding a nice physique under those drab clothes. Tongue in cheek, Brian drolled, “You look hot. I’d fuck you.”

  


Justin had hied off to the kitchen to rustle up some brunch after True’s stomach began to rumble in distress, shortly followed by similar grumbles from Justin and Brian’s bellies. With more coffee brewing, French toast batter ready, bread sliced, bacon ready to fry, and fruit cut up, the blond turned on the heat under the griddle and frying pan to warm them up and then jived his way over to the other two occupants of the loft with frothy orange-tinted drinks in his hands, singing and jiggling his ass as he sang about [ bottoms up ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=77dsYusy1ag) -

 

All them boys in their gym shorts

(gym shorts)

I ain’t even been to bed

(been to bed)

Le me go get you another glass

(Drink)

Bottoms up, Bottoms up

Go on, getcha bottoms up

 

He’d modified the song, improving it greatly in his opinion. Really, who wanted to hear about ‘girls in yoga pants’ with camel toes? *shudder* Certainly none of the men in this loft.

 

Truesen was standing near Brian, who was still stationed in front of the computer, firing off messages to Emmett. The ex-virgin, ex-Mormon, born-again faggot was staring at a framed pencil drawing that had been hung on the wall above the steps leading to the bedroom. The sketch showed a naked man’s torso and featured a very long schlong. The Sinner scrutinized the drawing, turned to examine Brian, who was naked from the waist up - alas, he’d pulled on sweatpants after their shower fuck - and then swiveled back to consider the sketch again.

 

Justin handed off one mimosa to True Sin, wiggled his ass some more, and warbled, “Bottoms up!”

 

Brian had just pulled out his cellphone, ready to call and chew out the flaming queen’s ass - No! Not that kind of chewing out! - because he was positive Emmett hadn’t ordered enough champagne, when Justin plonked himself down in his lap and belted out -

 

Maybe I drank too much

Or I can’t find my friends

But you look good enough

Let’s drink

Bottoms up, Bottoms up

Go on, getcha bottoms up

 

Brian decided he could chew out Emmett the next day. Enjoying his lapful of beautiful, bubbly, caroling blond held more appeal for him than dealing with the recalcitrant, flamboyant flame. He took a sip from the mimosa that Justin proffered and leaned forward to share it with his Sunshine.

 

Just then, the buzzer for the loft sounded from downstairs. The two men looked at each other knowingly and said in unison, “Daphne!”

 

Justin scooted off Brian’s lap and ambled over to the door to buzz in his friend, while Brian muttered, “I’m surprised she waited this long.”

 

The blond chuckled and agreed, “She must be chomping at the bit by now to see how her fledgling fag is doing.” Justin smirked to himself, figuring that Daphne probably needed a new Justin and Brian porn disc, too.

 

Daphne charged into the loft, brushing past Justin, her gaze flitting over Brian as she looked around for Truesen. When she espied the back of a raven-haired head looking at something on the wall behind Brian, she zoomed over to her recruit. “True?” she asked, bouncing up and down and reaching out to touch one naked shoulder. “How’d it go? Did you like it?”

 

Truesen turned around and bashfully smiled down at the excited young woman. “Hello, Daphne,” he said, intending to thank her for half-cajoling, half-bullying him into accompanying her to Woody’s the previous evening and especially for the introduction to Justin and Brian - regardless of how harrowing it had seemed. Before he said anything more, though, he became aware of her bug-eyed, drop-jawed stare.

 

Daphne was literally speechless - a condition from which the young woman rarely suffered. This was her Trusie? She’d expected that her men, especially Justin, would take care in inducting him into the Pitts’ echelon of fags, but she’d never expected this incredible transformation. Holy shit! Daphne experienced a severe surge of penis envy. *sigh* How she wished she were equipped with [ a schlong of her own ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CZ8W8x2s3uM). Then the boys could regularly make her look and feel just as sated and satisfied as Truesen.

 

“W . . . wow! True Sin,” Daphne stammered in astonishment, “the just fucked look is a good one for you.” The young woman didn’t see any need to mince words since the no longer virginal Sinner had heard worse at Woody’s, never mind during his baptism at the loft, to which Daphne - to her regret - had not been privy. She hoped she’d be able to winkle some of the details out of her bestie, but he could be irritatingly reticent when guarding someone’s privacy other than his own.

 

Truesen flushed a bit - he had just been inducted into the ranks of Pittsburgh’s fags, after all - but he also preened, showing he was learning a gay man’s pride in his appearance. Although he wasn’t sexually inclined toward women, he didn’t mind this one’s avidly admiring gaze. He didn’t say anything more, but he sucked in his stomach a little, so that Daphne could see the outline of an emerging six-pack. A gratifying gasp reached his ears seconds later.

 

“Fuck, True, you’re so fucking hot!” the young woman exclaimed incredulously. This just could not be the same man from last night. Justin and Brian really were miracle workers, even more so than JT and Rage.

 

Justin, who’d returned to the kitchen and was placing strips of bacon into the frying pan, exchanged a broad grin with Brian. Flabbergasting Daphne was almost as much of an accomplishment as introducing True Sin to the joys of gay sex.

 

As Daphne continued to salivate over Truesen’s lithely muscled form, she finally noticed the framed sketch which had been blocked by the Sinner’s body. Once more, she went slack-jawed, her eyes widening in disbelief.

 

“Wha . . . what? Did you find out who purchased this sketch? How did you reacquire it?” a bewildered Daphne peppered her boys with headlong questions.

 

Brian tilted his chair backward and directed a complacent glance at their fag hag.

 

Daphne frowned. No. Surely not. If Brian had been the purchaser, why hadn’t he hung up the drawing before? It certainly flattered his hosepipe, to which Brian would never be averse. Why hide it if his motivation for the acquisition was to encourage Justin as an artist? Maybe, she mused, Justin wouldn’t have believed Brian had bought it because he genuinely admired Justin’s artwork.

 

But that didn’t explain why they hadn’t hung up the drawing till now. Why not post-Zucchini Man? Or to prevent the Ethan debacle? It would have shown Justin how much Brian valued him, without descending into romantic claptrap.

 

Neither Justin nor Brian had deigned to answer her questions, although Brian still looked unbearably smug, and a delighted smile danced across her best friend’s visage.

 

Daphne almost stamped her foot in vexation. She had so many additional questions - Had Justin unearthed the drawing? Had Brian finally pulled it out? When had they hung it up? It couldn’t have been on the wall for all that long, or Daphne would have noticed it. The auburn-haired lass opened her mouth to ask another question but then abruptly changed her mind. Brian clearly expected - and wanted - her to continue her inquisition then and there, so she decided to torment him in return. Tit for tat.

 

Hiding her amusement at the disappointed expression which crossed Brian’s face, she hooked an arm through Truesen’s and towed the lad toward the sofa so she could quiz him about his future plans. Suddenly thirsty and belatedly noticing the nearly empty glass in the Sinner’s hand, she reached out, “You don’t mind, do you, True? I’m parched.” With that, she knocked back the last swallow of orange delight.

 

Truesen’s disappointment at having his orangeade snatched away was reflected on his face. He’d never previously liked that fizzy orange drink, but this glassful had been of far superior quality to anything he’d ever had before. Happily, Justin came to the rescue, bearing a pitcher of the frothy drink and an empty glass for Daphne.

 

“Really, Daph,” he chided, bussing her on the cheek, “you know I wouldn’t leave you sans mimosa for long. I could never inflict such cruel and unusual punishment on you.”

 

Daphne turned to True Sin and apologized, “Gosh, I’m sorry, True. Not that it justifies my behavior, but my mother has been badgering me about my cousin Jodie’s wedding. I was on the phone with her again this morning, for well over an hour, and then I came over here . . . and you looked, er, look so fuckin’ hot.”

 

Truesen politely waved away her apology, mollified by the compliment and by Justin handing him the clean glass, which he promptly filled to the brim with more of that lovely orangeade. After immediately taking a healthy swig, the sable-haired lad hiccuped when he lowered his glass. “This really is the besht orangeade, *hiccup* Jushin. Where’d ya purch-ass it?”

 

Daphne barely managed to stifle a whoop of laughter. The Sinner was sloshed! She’d forgotten all about the Mormon prohibition against alcohol until then.

 

“Fresh-squeezed oranges, Sinner,” Justin giggled. Tipsy True Sin was so cute that Justin decided he wouldn’t tell him until later that mimosas and orangeade weren’t quite the same drink.

  


The appetizing aromas of French toast cooking, bacon frying, and coffee brewing had been permeating the loft for the last half hour, when Justin called, “Come and get it, everyone!”

 

As she took a seat at the dining table, Daphne was hard put to say whether the three shirtless men or the brunch fixings looked more scrumptious.

 

Brian grimaced as he sauntered over to the table and eyed the carb-laden repast askance.

 

“No complaints, Stud,” Justin warned. “I cut up some cantaloupe, strawberries, and guava just for you. Would you like a slice of dry wheat toast - hold the butter - to go with that?” he asked sarcastically.

 

Daphne tittered. Brian’s dietary habits were notoriously capricious and bizarre. He wouldn’t eat carbs after seven in the evening, but he drank coffee which was largely sugar, with a little liquid added, and he scarfed down pizza like there was no tomorrow when he was stoned. Plus, he stole food from Justin’s plate as if that magically eliminated the calories.

 

Truesen almost missed the chair when he went to sit down at  the table and had actually started to pray, “Dear Lordsh, we thanks you for thish . . .” when Brian clapped a hand over his mouth.

 

“We have a different prayer in this household,” he informed the Sinner. Brian smirked, raised his glass, and solemnly intoned, “Fuck them all!”

 

“Here, here!” Justin and Daphne chimed in.

 

“Pass the meat. Let’s eat!” Justin waggled his eyebrows and hungrily eyed Brian’s crotch.

 

“Later, Blondie,” growled the brunet stud as his sweats began to tent at the crotch.

 

The foursome alternated swigs of mimosa with gulps of coffee, and the youngsters gobbled up helping after helping of French toast, bacon, and fruit while Brian subtly - or so he imagined - filched slices of bacon and bites of French toast drenched in maple syrup from Justin’s plate.

 

A perplexed Truesen finally inquired, “Why yoush eatin’ offa Jushin’s plate, Brian?” His eyes widened, “Donsha have enuff platesh an’ sillerware?”

 

Daphne and Justin guffawed when Brian, who’d just stabbed another bite of syrupy French toast on Justin’s plate with his fork and was raising it to his mouth, lost control of the morsel. It plopped onto Brian’s chest and slithered down his torso before landing atop the bulge in his sweats, balancing there precariously.

 

The blond didn’t pause to assess the situation. He leaned over, licked his way down the syrupy sweet path taken by the wayward bite of French toast, and then engulfed the bread cube - and a little more - with his mouth.

 

“Jesus H. Fucking Christ!” the brunet shouted, before dramatically throwing his arms out, and declaiming, “O Heavenly Father, we thank you for our morning blow job . . .”

 

Justin grinned as he raised his head from Brian’s groin. He exchanged a prolonged kiss with the stud, which might have gone on all afternoon if Daphne hadn’t given Justin’s shin a quick kick under the table. She hated to interrupt, but she knew she’d have many more opportunities to watch the studs suck face; plus, she really wanted to watch that intriguing video Justin had been raving about.

 

When affronted, azure blue eyes turned in her direction, Daphne reminded her bestie, “Justin, you’ve been going on and on for days about the Invasion of the Pines, Fire Island’s unique celebration of Independence Day, and Adam and Steve, the guys who stole the spotlight this year.

 

“Oh, that’s right! It’s so cool!” Justin babbled, “I mean, some of those drag queen ensembles were already elaborately fantastical. But then some wet-behind-the-ears kid apparently came up with a whole new concept, devising costumes out of body paint and playing off of Genesis and the creation of Adam and Eve. Only, instead of Eve, the artist disguised himself as StEve, caught in the metamorphosis from woman to man.”

 

A bit later, after their plates had been loaded into the dishwasher, the quartet settled onto the sofa, with Justin perched on Brian’s lap, and the blond selected the YouTube video, which was a smash hit among viewers - gay and straight. “Makes me wish I’d gone into body painting,” the blond wistfully commented when the camera zoomed in on Adam and StEve walking in the Invasion Parade.

 

“Holy Moly!” Truesen swore, “are they naked undersh that paint? How can they walk around so insouciantly?” It took him three tries to get out the word ‘insouciantly’, and he was supremely proud of himself when he succeeded, beaming happily at the other occupants of the couch. He wasn’t sure why he was having so much trouble speaking, but he sure felt aaamaaazing!

 

“It must be really annoying to have all those queens pawing at them,” Daphne noted as Adam slapped an overly-adventurous drag queen’s hand away from his serpent. Shortly after that incident, StEve’s perky posterior was the recipient of a particularly vigorous pinch if the way the blond rubbed his plump rump was any indication.

 

“Ya know, Brian, you kinda look like Adam,” Truesen earnestly observed, “same height and build, same dick lengthish”.

 

Justin, Brian, and Daphne exchanged smiles. Their boy hadn’t stumbled or paused when spitting out ‘dick’. Those mimosas were clearly good for him.

 

“I’d like to take a bite out of his Adam’s apple,” Justin confessed, “he’s yummy.”

 

Brian’s possessive instincts kicked in, and he tightened his arms around HIS blond, growling, “You’re MINE, Twat, and don’t you forget it!” He’d forgotten anyone else except Justin was in the room, although he probably wouldn’t have given a flying fuck if he’d remembered before he spoke. He was getting better about expressing his feelings for Justin - as long as he didn’t have to spout lesbianic, romantic garbage to do so.

 

Tickled pink by jealous Brian, Daphne glanced at her boys necking with an ‘aw, they’re so cute’ look on her face.

 

“Are they gonna vishit the Pitts?” True Sin wondered, “there’s something weirdly appealing about the blond - although he’ll look mush better once his ‘transformation’” - another word that took three tries for the Sinner to spit out - “from Eve to Steve has been completed.”

 

Brian’s marketing instincts battled against his irritation with Adam. On the one hand, those two would make great models for the Garden of Eden campaign Kinnetik was preparing for an upscale gardening company. On the other hand, he just couldn’t warm up to Adam - really, what was so great about the guy? Then inspiration struck.“You want to try out body painting, Twat?” he asked, while affectionately nuzzling and nipping at the nape of Justin’s neck.

 

“It does look like fun,” Justin replied, “but how would I get any practice?” He looked seductively at Brian from under his lashes, anticipating the Stud’s response.

 

“No other test subjects but me, Blondie,” the brunet insisted, exactly as Justin had hoped.

 

The blond adored his possessive stud. He was more vulnerable than usual when suffering from a bout of jealousy - and required even more attention from toppy Justin.

 

“Only you, Big Guy,” Justin murmured in confirmation, his mouth pressed against Brian’s ear, tongue licking at the shell-shaped whorls.

 

“Are you sure you guys didn’t clone yourselves?” Daphne asked as she stared at the post-parade action of Adam and Steve fucking their way through a group of men. “Holy Fuck! Who was the videographer who managed to hold the camera so steady?” the lass gasped in admiration.

 

“Don’t be dense, Daphne,” Brian grumbled. “We’re much better looking and far hotter.”

 

“I dunno,” Truesen reiterated, “that blond . . . there’s somethin’ speshul ‘bout him - besides the thick dick.”

 

“And Adam,” Daphne panted, “he really knows how to wield his wang.”

 

“Think we can outclass Adam and StEve, Blondie?” Brian challenged, proceeding to seal his lips over the blond’s while fondling that bodacious bottom.

 

Justin gave as good as he got - rubbing his tempting tush against Brian’s long schlong and rapidly driving them both insane with lust.

 

Truesen longingly watched the two men, forgetting all about Adam and StEve as he crushed on his blond angel. “Could I k . . . kiss you again, Angel?” he stuttered.

 

What?! Her men - or Justin, anyway - had kissed the greenhorn gay? What was happening here? Daphne wondered. That definitely hadn’t been part of her agenda for the Sinner. She was going to remove him from the loft posthaste if it looked like he might drive a wedge between her men.

 

“That was a one-off, Sinful,” Brian grumbled, “not gonna happen again. Like the twinkie angel told you, he’s my partner. And there’s room for one twink only in the loft and in my life.”

 

Daphne almost swooned at Brian’s words. She’d never heard a more heartfelt declaration of love from the brunet.

  


Justin, Daphne, and Truesen whiled away the rest of the morning on the sofa, decimating another pitcher of mimosas and talking about what they wanted to do that afternoon. Brain had returned to the desk, where he’d set up his laptop since the desktop was unusable after its unfortunate meeting with Brian’s coffee. After settling in again, he harassed Emmet simultaneously by email and phone, periodically waving Justin over for a refill.

 

Daph was trying to wheedle Justin into going to the bridal boutique with her since, according to Mrs. Chanders, Jodie had narrowed down the choices for her bridesmaids’ dresses to three different designs. To get her mother off the phone after yet another call that morning, the young woman had finally agreed to the torture of trying on whatever froufrou dresses her cousin had selected that afternoon.

 

“Fairy lights! What the fuck are you talking about, Honeycutt?” the stud bellowed at one point. “It’s not a fuckin’ Christmas party for Chrissake!”

 

Justin swore he could see steam coming out of the Big Guy’s ears.

 

“Honeycutt, I did NOT approve fairy lights. I don’t see a line item for fairy lights anywhere in the budget for the gala!” Brian shouted. The more agitated the Big Guy became, the less sense the one-sided conversation made to trio on the couch.

 

“I already know I’m a fuckin’ fairy, dammit. And you’re a flamin’ fairy. What do the fuckin’ fairy lights have to do with us being fairy faggots?” the stud roared.

 

Truesen’s brows drew together. “What ish a fairy faggotsh, Angel?” he asked earnestly, drawing Justin’s attention away from the latest incarnation of Rage.

 

“Eh, ‘fairy’ and ‘faggot’ are both derogatory terms straight people use for gay men.” Justin replied, gazing at the inebriated Sinner.

 

“Sooo, I’m Fairy Truesen,” the young man extrapolated. “Ya know, since I canna be Eldersh Truesen, I’m Fairy Truesen.” He beamed for a moment but then his face crumpled.

 

The raven-haired lad had been feeling increasingly morose and maudlin as he moved into a sad drunk phase, the orangey goodness he kept guzzling no longer keeping the despair at bay. He let out a mournful wail as a big fat tear rolled down his cheek and dripped onto his chest. “What’m I gonna do? Where’m I gonna go?” *sob* I don’t have no fambly no more. *sniffle* No friendsh no more neither.”

 

“Easy, Sinful,” the blond angel consoled. Truesen curled into Justin’s side, laid his head on his angel’s chest, and sobbed his heart out.

 

“We’re going to take you to Debbie at the Liberty Diner. She’s the most famous fag hag the Pitts boasts, and she mothers all the lost gay boys.” Justin promised.

 

Daphne reached over and ran a soothing hand down the Sinner’s back. “She took Justin in when his dad chucked him out, True Sin. She’ll help. I know she will.”

 

In spite of the lad’s predicament, the two childhood friends couldn’t help grinning at each other over True’s head. They couldn’t wait to see his reaction to Debbie.

 

When the Sinner’s sobbing finally abated and he lifted his head from Justin’s chest, the blond teased, “Hey, it’s not all bad. You told me you want to practice your oral skills, right?”

 

Truesen was momentarily confused about what his angel meant. Oral skills? His dental hygiene was excellent . . . Oh! He blushed profusely when the blond glanced at his own crotch and then quirked a brow at True Sin.

 

“Uh, yes?” he responded hesitantly, a pink hue staining his cheeks. Truesen wasn’t sure why it was so embarrassing to talk about this in front of Daphne, especially after watching the Invasion video together, but it felt different, more personal.

 

“Well, Deb can show you how to practice deepthroating with veggies,” Justin encouraged his disciple to hone his prowess. “Two of Pittsburgh’s fellatio gurus taught her, and I’m sure she’d be happy to pass on her skills.”

 

The blond boy, who’d been perfectly aware that Brian was feigning work to avoid emotional entanglement, noted the stud’s frown when he praised Ted and Emmett’s know-how. His man was soooo jealous and soooo in love that Justin simply had to tease the Big Guy. So very predictable. Justin looked forward to the fuckfest that would ensue as Brian staked his claim.

 

He giggled when Daphne - right as thoughts of teasing his brunet stud flitted through his head - firmly stated, “No zucchini. Not good for blowjobs.”

 

Had Brian just flinched? *tee hee hee hee* Justin gathered himself and adopted a somber mien. Looking at the fledgling fag, he stated seriously, “Avoid zucchini. Very detrimental to your sex life.”

 

Once his tirade at Emmett’s expense had ended, Brian had busied himself at his computer while Sunshine and his fag hag had comforted the Sinner. All that lesbianic emotional shit? Fuck, no. *shudder* Brian hoped he and the blond boy wouldn’t have another of those things Justin referred to as ‘a talk’ anytime soon. Feelings. Blech. He would rather fuck or be fucked any day of the week.

 

He glanced over at the sofa again. Thank fuck. The Sinner had stopped sniveling. Maybe they could deliver True Sin into Deb’s capable hands and then spend the rest of Sunday engaging in their favorite form of worship. Brian needed to remind the blond to whom he belonged. Daphne would just have to fend for herself as far as bridesmaid’s dresses. No way was Brian going anywhere near that hotbed of horny hetero females known as a bridal boutique. And neither was his blond if he had anything to say about it.

 

He probably deserved that dig about the Zucchini Man, Brian mused. He would never regret that incident, though, not when it had led to his first real attempt at a relationship. Back then, he’d denigrated the ‘R’ word and had vehemently insisted he’d never be part of any such lesbianic, romantic drivel. Although, his offhand remark that he ‘didn’t mind having the blond around’ hadn’t fooled anyone.

 

Honeycutt, in particular, hadn’t bought into his bullshit. The flaming queen had even once been so bold as to ask what the rules were for if he and Justin weren’t in a relationship. They’d been dancing together - Fuck, but that flaming queen could make any dance partner look good! - when Emmett had posed that question. Brian had turned away and motioned to the nearest fuckable trick, who had eagerly followed him to the backroom. After Brian had fucked him fast and furiously, he’d plowed his way through another five tricks. The brunet stud had barely made it home before three o’clock the next morning. He’d discounted the notion that his panicked rush home had anything to do with being in a relationship. It was simply because he would never intentionally break a promise. ‘Yeah, right, Kinney’, he’d heard an Emmett-like voice snickering in his brain.

 

Thankfully, the Zuke incident was ancient history. Brian and the bodacious bubble butt must have gotten it right somewhere along the way, since they were still together.

  


Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

 

Someone’s fist thumped repetitively against the metal door. Daphne experienced a moment of déjà vu, thinking she was caught in a time warp and that Interruption Saturday was starting all over again.

 

“Hold your dicks!” Brian called, “Jesus, Mikey, why aren’t you home fucking the Professor?” Brian carped as he unlatched the metal door and slid it open. He figured it had to be his oldest friend, who had the worst timing known to man. For a change, though, he wouldn’t be interrupting a Justin and Brian fuck-a-thon.

 

Instead of Michael, Brian came face to face with what could only be another Mormon, who was holding a cellphone in one hand and a blue book in the other. Sheesh. Were they mass-producing them these days? This one looked even more uptight and self-righteous than the Sinner had when Brian had first seen him at Woody’s the previous night. Typical white and black ensemble with a boring, red-checkered tie to add a bit of color. So pasty white that it was clear he never saw the sun. Beefy build tending toward flab. Severely parted red hair. A constipated excuse for a smile on his face.

 

Brian would have been amused to know that his initial assessment of the man almost exactly matched Daphne’s. It would only have served to further cement his positive impression of the girl, however. She was bloody perceptive, that one, as was to be expected of Brian’s friends, with one glaring exception.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” he growled. He didn’t like having this sanctimonious bastard anywhere near his loft.

 

“I am Decken. I have come to share the Word of God,” the Mormon replied in a stilted voice while staring at Brian’s naked chest in horrified fascination.

 

What was up with Mormon parents and the names they chose for their kids? True Sin? Dick In? The fucking kids were gonna be bullied in school and scarred for life. Much worse than Abraham, the name Melanie had preferred for his son. Fortunately, Justin had chosen the name Gus, sparing Sonnyboy from a name that didn’t have much to recommend it.

 

This sorry excuse for a man didn’t look like he’d ever put his dick in anyone or had someone put their dick in him either. “We aren’t offering pity fucks today,” the brunet sneered as he began to slide the door shut, “so you’ll have to find someone else to fuck the pompous piety right outta you.”

 

“No! Do not close the door. I have traced Brother Truesen here,” Decken brandished his cellphone, “and I will rescue him from the clutches of evil.”

 

“We’re not holding anyone hostage, Dick In,” Brian stated with conviction, “we don’t put locks on our doors. Our fuck buddies ‘choose’ to be here.” Brian doubted the Mormon zealot understood the concept of choice, blinded as he was by religious dogma.

 

Decken gasped in outrage at ‘fuck buddies’. Surely, Brother Treusen could not have fallen so far into darkness. He shot a puritanical, judgemental glare at the man who had not so much as introduced himself. Not that he wanted to know the brunet devil’s name, he hastily amended. Evil often cloaked itself behind a handsome facade, and Decken would never give in to such temptation.

 

“No. I cannot abandon my brother. You will allow me to speak to him now,” Decken insisted. He shoved the blue book into Brian’s chest, pushing the brunet back from the doorsill, and entered the loft.

 

Truesen had been overjoyed for a moment to hear his brother Mormon’s voice. Decken still loved him! But then, he’d quailed in shame at Decken’s authoritative, hectoring, increasingly virulent tone. He gathered his courage, though, and slowly stopped shaking after Justin hugged him and murmured, “Stand up for yourself, True Sin.” Looking him in the eyes, his blond angel continued, “Gay is not a choice, True. It’s the way your god made you.”

 

For himself, Justin repudiated the Sinner’s god, his father’s god, or any other god. He didn’t need or want a god that excluded worshippers on one pretext or another. True Sin, however, had been brought up in an extremely devout household. So far, he’d been remarkably brave, not only in stepping out of the closet but also by exploring his sexuality. It was clearly getting harder for Truesen to cope, however, as it sank in that he’d cut himself off from his family and friends. If the belief in a benevolent god who actually loved him helped True cope, Justin wouldn’t quibble about it.

 

Truesen didn’t know how his ‘brother’ had tracked him down, but he figured he would have to face Decken sometime, so he might as well get it over with now. The only surprise, really, was that Decken had come alone; normally, an intervention was staged by a handful of brothers and sisters, who descended on the miscreant and prayed with him until he saw the light and returned to the fold.

 

Decken stormed over to the trio standing in front of the sofa but halted abruptly, recoiling when he recognized the lewd, foul-mouthed young woman from the previous afternoon. Had Brother Truesen played a starring role in the gay sex scene the witchy woman had mentioned she was composing? With the brunet devil? The golden-haired demon? Decken swallowed hard as he got a better view of the blond Beelzebub. The dybbuk looked like an angel and couldn’t possibly be human. “Get thee hence, Satan!” he ordered.

 

Justin had heard the badgering bully introduce himself to Brian. His drab, dowdy, flabby appearance matched his priggish, petulant tone. “Don’t fash yourself, Dick In” Justin jeered, “I wouldn’t touch an ugly queer like you with a ten-foot pole.”

 

“How dare you insinuate I’m not one-hundred percent heterosexual!” Decken retaliated with a scathing glare. “I would never succumb to the unholy seduction offered by the likes of you!”

 

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Daphne sarcastically observed to Justin.

 

“Since Queen Gertrude isn’t available, maybe he should have a chat with Mysterious Marilyn about making false vows,” Justin responded.

 

The queenly seer had gained quite a reputation on Liberty Avenue for somehow wreaking havoc on those who impugned her or her select circle of friends. Justin had become an especial favorite since he’d saved her - and, more importantly, her Dolce & Gabbana handbag - from a mugging late one night a couple of years earlier. Neither one of them had spoken a word about the incident to anyone else, but Marilyn kept an eye on the lad, helping him whenever she could. She credited herself with making him rethink what he really wanted, whether pursuing a career as an artist and a relationship with Brian were really incompatible. Oh, Justin would have figured it out eventually. Far better in her estimation, though, for the Kings of Babylon and Liberty Avenue to be together sooner rather than later.

 

The sidebar conversation between Daphne and Justin went right over Decken’s head. He’d never read ‘Hamlet’, the church elders having deemed Shakespeare’s works ungodly.

 

Truesen took a step toward Decken, which diverted the redhead’s attention from the witch and the demon. But that couldn’t be his brother. He’d never seen this sleekly sexual creature before. He swept a quick glance around the open space but didn’t see anyone else; therefore, by the process of elimination, he deduced this had to be Truesen.

 

Were those purplish-red marks on Truesen’s chest and neck some kind of bites? Decken feared that Truesen might indeed have had sexual congress, not only out of wedlock but - so much more sinful - with another man.

 

“You have no right,” Truesen’s voice vibrated with anger, “to push your way in, uninvited, and attack my friends.” He had been scared to defend himself, but he wouldn’t allow Decken to slander either his blond angel or the young lady who’d encouraged him to embrace his true self. “Go!” the Sinner commanded, “you are not welcome here.”

 

“I’m washing my hands of you, Truesen. You will no longer be my brother,” Decken threatened.

 

“Some brother you’ve proven to be, Dick In,” Daphne snorted. “You can’t accept True Sin if he doesn’t fit into the Mormon cookie-cutter mold.”

 

Truesen didn’t say anything but backed away from Decken. He took the hand his blond angel extended and entwined their fingers, making his choice obvious.

 

“Hand over the cellphone the church permitted you to use, Truesen,” Decken commanded. “That device is valuable to the community. After it has been cleansed, the next missionary will be able to use it.”

 

Brian sauntered over and placed an arm around Truesen. “Does he mean the piece of crap on the bar? Let him have it. We’ll get you an iPhone instead,” the label queen declared.

 

Until that point, Decken had only focused on the half-naked men and the harpy with the chestnut curls. Now, as he glanced toward the bar, he became aware of the sybaritic splendor of the loft - the bottle of Beam and the tumblers still on the coffee table along with the nearly empty pitcher of mimosas, the altar-like unmade bed with rumpled sheets and blankets, and the stench of sex. He felt an unwelcome rush of blood to his groin, which he had no means to disguise.

 

“How can you indulge in such sinful behavior?” he spluttered. “Swilling bourbon and mimosas and engaging in extramarital relations? It’s all s . . . so ungodly!”

 

Brian snorted. It wasn’t as if he’d never been told he was going against God’s will before. Unlike Saint Joan’s poisoned barbs, though, this twit’s denunciations didn’t make a dent in his composure. Hmm, interesting that he’d identified the dregs in that nearly empty pitcher as mimosa. And, even though he couldn’t see the label, he’d recognized the Beam as bourbon. Most telling, just how had he become so familiar with the scent of sex? Perhaps, this moralizing mess of a Mormon should have been the one named ‘True Sin’ Brian mused.

 

The blond’s thoughts followed a similar path. The sloshed Sinner, who’d sobered up fast when Dick In had invaded the loft, still had no clue that his orangeade was alcoholic. This dickhead, however, had nosed out in an instant not only what they’d been doing but precisely what they’d been drinking. What a hypocrite, Justin ruminated. So much for, ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’

 

Both Justin and Brian had noted the growing bulge in the Mormon’s pants. Smirking, the blond offered, “Would you like to join us, Dick In? True Sin hasn’t had the chance to top yet . . .”

 

Daphne, who’d focused in on the Mormon’s growing arousal a few seconds after her boys, scoffed, “I graciously invited True Sin and Dick In to enact a gay porn scene for me. They both declined, although our Sinner had the courage to embrace his true self shortly thereafter.” Winking at the newbie fag, she continued, “I’m hoping he’ll change his mind about the gay porn, too.”

 

Decken shuddered, making every effort to ignore the hussy. “See no evil, hear no evil,” he mumbled under his breath, not catching the irony at all. In a last-ditch attempt to save the transgressor, he admonished, “Truesen, you will dwell in everlasting darkness if you continue down this wicked path to eternal damnation.”

 

“That’s not brotherly love. That’s hate.” Justin said in disgust.

 

“It’s envy, too.” Daphne contemptuously added. “He just wishes you’d fucked him instead of Truesen.

 

“What the fuck is this anyway? The menu for the newest Thai restaurant, perhaps?” Brian snarked, tossing the blue book at the Mormon. “I’ve already put my ‘dick in’ the ‘true sin’ delivery.

  


“Take your pompous preaching to those who want to hear it, Decken.” Truesen motioned toward the door, “I choose hell and the good company to be found around the fire.” When Decken still didn’t depart, Truesen lasciviously licked his lips, dropped to his knees in front of Justin, undid the button at the waistband, and started to unzip the blond’s cargo pants.

 

Decken fled as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels.

  


“Fuck, True Sin. For a moment there, I thought Dick In would become our newest convert and let you have a go at him,” Justin sighed in regret.

 

The dark-maned, newly-minted fag shrugged philosophically, “Eh. I realize now that the loser checked out my ass many a time. I just didn’t know what was going on before. He’ll be back,” Truesen continued confidently. “We’ll convert him to the Pittsburgh Society of Fabulous Fags the next time he ‘stops by’.”

 

Justin let True Sin’s expectation that there would be a next time at the loft slide. He’d sit down with the lad another day and kindly but firmly reiterate his and Brian’s one-time-only policy. They’d already stretched the rules since the Sinner had been a virgin, but enough was enough.

 

“You should send your ‘brother’ - Daphne caustically emphasized ‘brother’ - a copy of the Kinsey scale test, Sinner. Dick In is definitely slip-sliding away to the other end of the scale.” At Truesen’s blank stare, she clarified, “Most people aren’t completely heterosexual or homosexual. They fall somewhere in between. If they’re willing to be honest, the scale test can open them up to entirely new experiences.

  


For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Truesen walked along Liberty Avenue at Daphne’s side. He didn’t really hear the wolf whistles or see the admiring glances directed his way. He was too busy twisting his head around to look at his blond angel, who was lagging behind with Brian. The two studs had stopped in front of a shop with a giant phallus in the window and were laughing about one of the other items on display - an arm sticking straight up with the fingers pressed together.

  


Decken had no idea what the item was or why they found it so amusing, but he couldn’t help but envy the closeness between the two men. He really hoped he might share another night with them. Or maybe just his angel? Even during the raunchiest of their sexual shenanigans, he’d felt so cared for by the blond. That easy, light-hearted affection was something he hadn’t experienced before, and he craved more of it.

 

As he watched, Brian pushed Justin up against the sex store window and leaned in to devour the blond’s lips. To Truesen, who halted in his tracks, it seemed they were always kissing, touching, or exchanging smouldering glances. Other couples were meandering down the street - holding hands, kissing, smiling at each other - but none of them had quite the same magic about them, at least not to the infatuated young man.

 

The onlookers apparently agreed with Truesen.

 

“How long do ya think it’ll be before they come up for air?” a bespectacled, bookish young man asked, pushing forward through the gathering crowd for a closer look.

 

“They’re good for business,” a tattooed, barechested bear chided from the doorway to the store, “so don’t interfere. Whenever Taylor and Kinney go at it in front of my shop, there’s always a spike in sales.”

 

A butch, dark-haired dyke in army camouflage and combat boots commented in amazement to her companion, who was dressed in a bright pink tutu, “Fuck me if that ain’t hot! And I don’t even let no man parts anywhere near my twat.”

 

Tutu sighed in agreement, “Maybe we should take a walk on the wild side? We could take these lusty lads home with us and give them a workout with our strap-ons.”

 

Daphne had decided to have another try at talking her bestie into going to the bridal shop with her. When she turned around, however, she discovered all three men had vanished. Spotting Truesen in the middle of the sidewalk near ‘Cocks, Balls, and Beyond’, outside of which a crowd had gathered, Daphne marched back down the sidewalk till she reached the Sinner.

 

“Are Justin and Brian the reason everyone’s gawking at ‘Cocks N Balls’? the petite woman asked suspiciously, unable to see over the heads of those in front of her.

 

True only had an inch or two on Daphne, but he’d been there when the action started and was therefore aware of the cause of the commotion. “They’re just kissing,” he responded a bit petulantly, wishing he were the recipient of more of those angelic kisses.

 

Daphne was immediately concerned by True Sin’s tone. He wasn’t crushing on her men, was he? That would bring him nothing but heartache. Brian and Justin’s relationship might not be conventional, but there was still no room in it for a third person.

 

“True, you do know that Justin and Brian are partners right?” she declared with conviction. “They may not refer to it as a relationship, but that’s what it is. They’re committed to each other.”

 

Truesen shook his head, “How can they be, Daphne? I mean, yes, they told me they’re partners, but why would they f . . . f . . . fuck me all night long if that’s true?”

 

Beginning to get annoyed, Daphne retorted, “True Sin, they invited you to join them as a favor to me. They like their men to be experienced, not untouched. Even so, a trick is usually out the door after one shag.” She reached up and grabbed the Sinner’s arms, shaking him to make sure he was listening, “But, because you were a virgin, they let you stay for the night and taught you some of the tricks of the trade. They don’t do repeats. That rule is infrangible, so don’t expect anything more.”

 

Truesen’s lower lip stuck out mutinously and he didn’t respond, causing Daphne to worry that he was developing a fixation on at least one of her boys, likely Justin from the way the Sinner had been looking at her bestie.

 

Daphne’s niggling worry began to grow. Just then, a possible distraction presented itself. She was so shocked to see Backroom Todd outside during the day that she almost failed to recognize him. Until the bombing, she’d only seen him as he headed into Babylon’s backroom for the night. Nowadays, he could often be found outside Woody’s or heading into Popperz’ rather dismal backroom - it just didn’t meet Babylon’s standards. He’d always been a nighttime backroom dweller as far as she knew.

 

“Hey, Todd,” she called out, “How’s it going?”

 

“Still not so fine, Daphne,” the curly-haired Adonis replied, “I miss Babylon, ya know?”

 

“Me too, Todd. Me too,” Daphne commiserated. “Hey, do you think you could do me a favor?”

 

Todd understandably looked skeptical since he didn’t really know Daphne except to exchange hellos, but he nodded anyway.

 

“This is True Sin,” Daphne explained, motioning the raven-haired lad to come over and meet Todd.

 

She completed the introductions, “True Sin, this is Todd. He can show you around Liberty Avenue and then take you to the diner later.”

 

Daphne grinned in self-congratulation when she realized neither of the men was listening to her. Each seemed quite intrigued by the other’s appearance, with Todd reaching out to run a hand over the muscles outlined by the skin-tight blue t-shirt Justin had lent Truesen.

 

“Todd, you’ll take True Sin to Deb at the diner later this afternoon, won’t you?”

 

Todd finally tore his eyes away from the Sinner. “Sure, Daph. Liberty Diner. Deb. True Sin. No problemo.”

 

Unfortunately, Todd began to guide the Sinner toward ‘Cocks and Balls’, apparently considering that the perfect starting place for a tour of Liberty Avenue. The horde in front of the shop had finally dissipated, the studly lip lock and body rub having ended, most of the completely horny observers heading into the sex store after the show.

 

Todd and Truesen ran smack dab into Justin and Brian who, after  coming up for air, had decided to resume their trek to the diner.

 

The blond was nattering on about the products in the sex shop window, “Really, Brian, I seriously considered the silicone fisting hand but then I realized you’d rather chop off your balls than let that monster anywhere near your pucker.”

 

“I’m glad you’re not a totally ditzy blond, Sunshine,” the brunet stud increased the volume of his retort slightly as he disentangled himself from Todd, “deluding yourself that I’m going to start bottoming.” Brian was determined that his Top Dog status would remain intact. What he and the blond actually did behind closed doors was another matter entirely.

 

“Not to worry, Big Guy,” Justin quipped, making sure Truesen had regained his feet before stepping back, “I remembered how good you look in red, so I got you something else.”

 

Both men blinked in surprise when they realized that it was Todd who’d crashed into Brian. One just did not see the blond out during the daytime.

 

“Todd said he’d show the Sinner around,” Daphne related as she joined the four men. She’d wanted to bang her head against a wall when Todd had beelined for the sex shop with True Sin in tow, crashing into her boys. ‘Way to go Daph,’ she had thought to herself, ‘that won’t work to separate the Sinner from Justin’.

 

Truesen hadn’t uttered a word, once again absorbed in contemplation of his angel, forgetting all about the newer blond.

 

“Well, why don’t you two run along then,” Brian chivvied, “and check out the toys. You show the Sinner a good time, Todd, and we may have a backroom to discuss,” Brian hinted.

 

Todd smiled broadly and grabbed True Sin by one arm, dragging him toward the store. Taking care of this little hottie was no hardship and, with the bonus of Babylon’s backroom in the offing, Todd was feeling mighty fine indeed.

 

As Todd and True Sin vanished into the store, Justin thought, ‘Mission accomplished’. He’d forgotten all about the impact he’d had on his first virgin and was blissfully unaware of True Sin’s crush on him, which might have caused problems later. As far as the blond knew, the Sinner was out and proud and making friends on Liberty Avenue. He’d be okay on his own now, especially with Deb to mother him.

 

The two studs looked at each other, grinned, and simultaneously turned back toward the loft.

 

“Bye, Daph!” Justin called as he and Brian started walking faster.

 

Time to go sin some more.

  


Song for Chapter 6

No Name City from ‘Paint Your Wagon’

[ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09HvF6xu4Gs ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09HvF6xu4Gs)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it, folks! Please let me know if you enjoyed this porny tale. Tell me which dangling plot threads you’d like me to follow up on, and I’ll do my best to satisfy your curiosity. I have some ideas for a sequel and will keep writing if I receive enough comments that you’d like more. 
> 
> This story fits into the timeline of a post-5.13 universe I’m developing. I’m currently drafting a longer story, set in the same universe, that depicts the boys’ reunion and will precede ‘I’d Rather Burn in Hell’ on the timeline. There will be more smutty shenanigans - I can’t imagine Brian and Justin without that! - but there will also be plenty of plot, including drama and romance.
> 
> The Mimosa song and drink are dedicated - yet again - to TAG. That orangey drink insists on wending its way into my stories. Go make yourself a mimosa and sing and dance along! Note: I’ve taken liberties with the song since neither the show ‘Empire’ nor the song ‘Mimosa’ had yet been produced in 2005, when this story takes place.
> 
> A big shout-out to Brynn_Jones for the ‘Schlong Song - Rises Again (Parody)’. She finds the best videos and songs! Also, a relieved thank you to my Synergy Sister for the warning that the two men were slipping out of character, which spurred me to write a much more fitting ending to the story.
> 
> HUGE thanks to TAG and Saje for allowing me to incorporate Adam and StEve from ‘Fiery Nights’ and the boys’ celebration of the Invasion of the Pines into this story. I had so much fun with the FN team, designing Adam and StEve’s Independence Day attire and writing about their Fourth of July revels. Read all about Brian and Justin’s summer shenanigans and view their awesome body-painted costumes in ‘Fiery Nights’! Be sure to check out the documentary about the annual Invasion of the Pines at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASw6XN7IWcs&feature=youtu.be.
> 
> Credit for the fisting hand and the fun repartee regarding that item goes to Brian Kinney Addict. Thanks for letting me use your idea, BKA!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review and let me know what you think. And come back next Sunday for the next installment.
> 
> Thank you, Brynn_Jones for the Freudian Sips mug! Did you readers catch all the ‘sips’?
> 
> Drunken Asbach Uralt chocolates are the best! I made up the names for the execs, though, and Asbach already does extensive marketing online. Check out their website: http://www.asbach.de/html/english/index.php. 
> 
> Want another dose of humor about Mormons? Go to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OKkLV1zE8M0 (link courtesy of Brynn_Jones).
> 
> Please go to Kinnetik Dreams, www.kinnetikdreams.com, to view all the story graphics.


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